


The Monster of Today

by Achilles_eel



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Cursed Jaskier | Dandelion, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geraskier, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Possession, everything will be explained in due course, geralt/yennefer is going on but it is in the background
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:41:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29385735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achilles_eel/pseuds/Achilles_eel
Summary: "That's not why I'm here." Geralt growled, "An assassin was sent for me when I was in Flotsam, I don't know who by" he pulled down his collar to show the mostly-healed wound on his shoulder, "but they were good. I was unprepared, and they stabbed with this dagger," he gestured to the weapon in front of him, "before they ran. They could have killed me, but they didn't.""You think it was on purpose?" Yennefer's brow furrowed"I think it was a message."Geralt is attacked by an assassin, who leaves him with Jaskier's dagger in his shoulder and a lock of his bard's hair. Geralt works to save his friend, but there is something more sinister lurking beneath the surface.
Relationships: Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer of Vengerberg (background), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 48
Kudos: 95





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> !!!TWs for this chapter below!!!  
> Hi, this is my first work on this account and in the Witcher fandom. All my knowledge for the lore comes from the Netflix show and the two hours I've played of Wild Hunt, so this is very much not canon compliant. I accept constructive criticism, but please be respectful and not aggressive. Thank you for reading :) - achilles
> 
> !!!TWs!!!  
> there is a fight scene in this chapter so there is mention of injury inflicted upon Geralt and the monster he is fighting but it is not very graphic.  
> Mention of being stuck underwater.  
> Mention of food.
> 
> Disclaimer: I obviously do not own the Witcher, I'm just writing something fun to pass the time in the UKs third lock down.

Flotsam was probably one of Geralt's least favourite places, bested only by Blaviken, for the obvious reasons. It was a dull town, both for its usual lack of interesting hunts, and for its general atmosphere - a cloud of grey seemed to perpetually hang over the place, and all the times that Geralt had visited, it had rained with such ferocity it rivalled even the strongest of archgriffins. Even now, as he stood next to the river, sword ready for the imminent fight, the good weather which had apparently been gracing the town for the past few weeks seemed to be slipping away, as dark clouds swirled menacingly overhead. Geralt looked to the sky with a scowl, fighting the urge to curse at it for always seeming to turn on him at the worst times.

He had been given a contract for a pack of drowners, which were supposedly nesting in the bend of the river where he was currently stood, a few miles north-east of the town. According to the locals, they had been there for a couple of months, but they had not been a major issue; it had been too cold to bathe in the river, and most of the village residents knew not to fish where the drowners were known to dwell. The good luck, however, had come to an end. Summer had come early this year (though Geralt could not believe this, as the first few drops of rain in weeks splashed against his forehead), and many people were flocking in from nearby villages and hamlets to enjoy the days relaxing in the cool water the river offered. Some visitors had not heeded the villagers' warnings of the dangers which awaited them upstream, dismissing them as hearsay and superstition. But now people were disappearing in disproportionate numbers, word was spreading of the demons of Flotsam, and the town's already low visitor numbers had plummeted. Understandably, neither the villagers nor the lord were not too keen for this to continue. Flotsam was a trading town, after all, and if there were no people, then there was no trade. 

Many locals had approached him as soon as he rode into the town, trailing behind Roach as they shouted stories at him of the monsters which were killing the tourists. He did not acknowledge them at first - he was not here to hunt, only to get an ale and a decent nights sleep as he made his way south to Vengerberg. When he sat at a table in the tavern, however, and was presented with six full bags of crowns, he realised that the drowners must have been a bigger problem than what he had first thought. Locals in a town like Flotsam did not have money to spare for food, let alone to pay a Witcher. Geralt refused all their offers of coin, instead asking them where he could find the lord. They told him, with no small amount of displeasure tainting their voice, that he lived at the top of the town, in a manor far too big and far too grand.  
Geralt's trip to the manor had been mostly unimaginative, the lord he was meeting with even more so. He was a small fellow with sharp features and small, black, beady eyes who seemed more akin to a shrew than a human. At first, he refused Geralt's proposal of disposing of the drowner's for three hundred crowns, laughing at the mere idea of it, but after Geralt held a blade to his neck and vilified him for not protecting his people, he eventually relented. 

He had arrived at the river at around midday and had been waiting in silence for a few hours, sword gripped in his hands, his body thrumming with anticipation. A bird somewhere above began to sing but soon darted off to avoid the torrential downpour which was looking increasingly likely. Geralt sighed, the water in front of him displaying no sign of any movement, drowners or otherwise. He had left Roach tied up in the stable just outside the inn, but he couldn't help wishing she was with him, if just for some company. He huffed out a mirthless laugh at his stupidity. There was a time not long before when he would have given, _he did give _, everything for some time alone. And a time even before that when the idea of needing company was an idea which would have earned whoever expressed it a punch to the gut.__

____

Geralt's jaw tightened, and he pulled his mind firmly off that train of thought. He had spent far too much time angry at Jaskier for the things which he played no part in, had told him as much on that godsforsaken mountain. It was only when he had met Ciri and reunited with Yennefer did he realise that the things he blamed his friend for were, in reality, two of the best things he had. That throughout his friendship with Jaskier, he had given him much to little, far too late. Geralt had searched for him for months afterwards, trailing the stories of the troubadour Dandelion, who sang epic tales of love and loss, but Jaskier had either become uncharacteristically flighty, or he was purposefully running from Geralt. Everywhere he went, every tavern he stayed in, it always seemed as if he had just missed the bard, sometimes by days, but sometimes by mere hours. After a few months of this, and after an altercation with Yennefer over a tracking spell, Geralt finally came to terms with the fact that Jaskier did not want to see him, that he had lost his only friend because of his own stupidity. It hurt more than he cared to admit.

____

The water in front of Geralt rippled slightly, snapping him out of his inertia. All at once, he was on his feet, silver sword raised. The water settled, but Geralt caught the scent of a drowner in the breeze. Slowly, he crept towards the bank of the river, feet threatening to slip on the mud. Rain was falling freely now from the sky, each raindrop sharp as knives where it hit his skin. He blinked the water out of his eyes, readjusting his sword. He was close enough to the river now to see the murky water below, eyes picking up three dark shapes which seemed to be lurking just below the surface. Overhead, thunder rumbled, lightning struck against the rapidly darkening sky, and Geralt leant slightly further over the bank.

____

Suddenly, a figure rose out of the water, swiping blindly at Geralt. He lurched forwards into the river, sword making contact with drowner's back. It howled an unearthly screech, and whirled around, claws bared as it for him. Geralt rose to meet it with his blade, the sound of claws meeting silver cutting through the thunder. Geralt stumbled back, ducking just in time to miss the strike from the creature, and lunging forward to skewer it through the middle with his sword. The drowner wailed, falling backwards into the river with a splash. Geralt barely had a moment to catch his breath before the second and third were upon him. 

____

They rose to full height, flanking his either side. Geralt began to fight his way against the current towards land, where he would have a greater advantage, when he felt fire-like pain scorch its way down his back, and he was tugged below the surface of the water. For a moment, he was stunned. The water swirled around him, ice-cold and oppressively dark, until finally, a strike of lightning illuminated his surroundings, allowing him to get his bearings. Geralt heaved his way to the surface, gasping as his head breached the water, and his eyes opening just in time to see one of the drowner's descending on him from above. He heaved his sword up just in time to pierce it through the neck as it fell. 

____

The third creature was somewhere below; Geralt could just make out the silhouette of its form moving just feet from where he was stood.

"Fuck" he said to no-one in particular, before pulling himself up to stand. With his sword pointing downwards, he reared himself back on his legs and jumped. His feet landed on the back of the drowner where it was hunched under the water, his blade coming down between its shoulder blades. It shrieked, its body shuddering, before Geralt angled his sword upwards, gripping the top of its head with his other hand and pulling, beheading it. 

____

Geralt pulled himself up the riverbank, one hand still holding the head of the drowner, the other gripping his sword, before he abandoned both in the mud in favour of reaching for his pack which he had left safely away from the fight. With one hand, he reached in, feeling around blindly until he found the bottle he was looking for. He uncorked it, relaxing slightly as he poured Swallow down his throat, falling onto his back to stare up at the sky. His eyes drifted shut as his body knit itself back together. 

____

* * *

____

By the time Geralt had stumbled his way back to the inn, the wounds on his back mostly, but not quite, healed, the sun was just on the precipice of the horizon. The rain had stopped hours ago, and the now-clear sky was streaked with fiery golds and reds. The sounds of the tavern were spilling out through the open windows; reaching Geralt's ears even from a mile away. He had lain by the river for many hours after the hunt meditating and waiting for his wounds to close, listening to the songs of the birds as they returned after the storm. As the sky started darkening, he had hauled himself up out of the mud and began the walk back to the village. 

____

He had made his first stop the manor, slamming the head of the drowner down on a table in front of the wide-eyed and fearful lord, and his equally wide-eyed wife, and demanded his coin with an open palm. He left without taking the head, and a smirk threatened to spill out onto his face when he glanced over his shoulder to see his muddy footprints pressed into a likely much too expensive rug. It was the sort of thing that Jaskier, if he were with Geralt, would chide him on it in the moment, for he was loath to see pretty things ruined. Once back at the inn, however, he would begin to compose a ditty about the white wolf who did not care for luxuries, only for doing good deeds. Geralt would grimace and insist that he only hunted for the coin, and Jaskier would look at him with all-too-knowing eyes and tell him that it was far more than that. 

____

The tavern was bustling by the time Geralt pushed through the doors. He was grateful, he supposed, as everyone was far too caught up in each other to barely spare the witcher a glance. He shouldered his way through the crowd of people to the bar, behind which a woman was stood, polishing a tankard.

"Witcher" she greeted him, before calling into a room behind her, "Al, he's back"

A man stuck his head out of the doorway, looking him up and down with scrutiny, "Did you kill them monsters?"

"Of course he has, you fool, look at him," she said gesturing wildly at Geralt, before turning to him muttering under her breath "you did, didn't you?"

"Hmm," Geralt nodded at them both "I would like a bed, and a bath if you are able."

"Aye, I'll have one prepared for you right away," the barkeep said, waving her hand to the man, who scurried off. When Geralt reached to his now-hefty coin purse, she shook her head vehemently, "you've done us a real favour here, witcher, it's on the house. Your bard wasn't lying in his songs."

Geralt bit the inside of his cheek to stop the growl which threatened to force its way out of his throat, and simply hummed in response. The barkeep reached under the counter and held out a key, which Geralt took. 

"It's the fourth door on the right, your bath should be up in a couple of minutes. Are you wanting to be eating?" Geralt nodded again, "your bard also mentioned you were a man of few words as well. Come down after your bath and I'll see what food I can do for you."

"Thank you," Geralt said sincerely. He figured he would kill the time waiting for his bath to tend to Roach, so he turned and left the inn, not noticing the smirk the woman gave as his back was turned.

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to drop a kudo and a comment if you enjoyed, it does brighten my day :)


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt meets a dangerous foe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!TWs below!!  
> Here is the second chapter, I hope you enjoy! - achilles
> 
> !!TWs!!  
> There is a fight scene so blood, strangulation and mention of weapons.  
> Also mention of food.

After Roach had been fed and groomed, Geralt made his way up to his room. As promised, there was a bath awaiting, just next to the fireplace. He wasted no time in getting in, hissing in pain as the hot water hit his back. He began to scrub mud and pieces of drowner out of his hair as best as he was able, grimacing as it coated his hands, and then lay back until the water turned tepid, listening at the indistinguishable thrum of the tavern downstairs. From what he could tell, a bard had just begun his set, and his stomach twisted uncomfortably. It wasn't Jaskier, but he was singing a few of his songs, and many of the tavern's patrons had begun to sing along. Geralt forced his head under the water until the songs became unrecognisable. 

Once he was out of the bath, he quickly rubbed his back with a healing salve he had bought from an apothecary a few months prior and wrapped it with the cleanest bandages he could scrounge from the bottom of his pack. It was not his neatest work, but he had done it himself for many years, and was more than capable of doing it now. He considered cleaning his swords and armour in the bath as well, but it was getting late, and he didn't know how many hours the barkeep's offer of food extended for. So, he leant them up in one corner of the room and reluctantly changed into the clean clothes he was saving for his visit to Yennefer and Ciri. Before leaving the room, Geralt tucked his dagger into his boot, just in case, and made his way down to the common room. 

Geralt made his way over to a table in the far corner of the room, one which was shadowed by a large beam overhead, catching the eye of the barkeep as he passed the counter. She nodded and disappeared into the back room. He settled down onto the bench, glancing around at the tavern's guests; most of them were horrendously drunk, and Geralt was almost overwhelmed by the thick stench of alcohol which permeated the air. There was a large space in the middle of the room which had been hurriedly cleared of tables and chairs, where the bard was performing, and where many of the patrons were spinning in a poor imitation of dancing. The barkeep came sidling over, placing a bowl of bread and stew, and an ale in from of him. She followed his eye-line to the dancing villagers, and laughed,

"They're celebrating your victory," she said.

"My...victory?" Geralt pulled the bowl towards him and took a bite of the bread. "Against the drowners?"

The barkeep hummed, "Yes." she looked down at him "What? Don't look so surprised, some towns are grateful for your witchers' help."

Geralt snorted into his spoonful of stew.

"Though, " she continued, a small smile on her face, "most people in this town spend their time searching for the next reason to throw a party"

Geralt smiled into his ale, "That seems more like it."

From the other side of the room, someone called the barkeep over to refill their tankard. She gave Geralt an apologetic look, "Duty calls. Enjoy your dinner" she said, slipping away from the table towards the bar. 

Geralt did not move from his spot in the corner for many hours, alternating between watching the villagers and thinking about his plans for the next few weeks. His route was bound for Vengerberg, where Yennefer and Ciri were staying in a small cabin just outside of the main city. He was not inclined to admit it to anyone, but Geralt missed them when he was away. He and Yennefer had mutually agreed that Ciri should stay with Yennefer, at least until they could form a solid plan on how to evade Niilfguard, and Geralt would visit as often as he could between hunts. Ciri had settled in surprisingly quickly, filling her days learning whatever Yennefer could teach her. Yennefer had also adapted to her role as protector with the same grace she took to everything else in her life, although she would never let Geralt say that to her face.

It was well into the night when Geralt finally rose from the table, throwing a few crowns down as he left. The bard had long since retired for the night, finishing off with a round of 'Toss a coin' which had Geralt gritting his teeth, his hands white-knuckling his ale to stop himself from going over and punching the man. He had just begun to climb the stairs when he caught the scent of something sharp in the air. The distinctive smell of Chaos. As if in agreement, his medallion began to thrum lightly against his chest, and he brought one hand up to still it. Slowly, he reached into his boot for his dagger, and ascended the rest of the steps, careful not to make any undue noise. He followed the trail of Chaos down the hall until he came to a halt outside the door to his room.

"For fuck's sake" he muttered under his breath and closed his eyes. He forced his ears to pick up sounds from within the room rather than from the villagers downstairs. There, sure enough, was the sound of a heartbeat - human, he noted. Geralt sighed, internally berating himself for his stupidity in leaving his room without his swords and potions before he opened the door.

* * *

His room was how he had left it, that was the first thing he noticed, once he was through the door. No-one had rifled through his things. The second thing he noticed the person who's heartbeat he heard was stood in the far right corner from Geralt, in between himself and his swords. They couldn't have come in through the window; none of the potions on the window-sill had been moved even a hair's width from where Geralt had lined them earlier on. The person was concealed by the shadows formed from the flickering of the fire, which was not rapidly burning out, but Geralt could just make out the twin daggers hanging from their waist. An assassin's symbol, he knew. The door swung shut behind him, and the assassin cocked their head.

"What do you want?" Geralt asked, hand clasping more firmly around his dagger, as he lowered himself into a fighting stance. The person remained silent, "I hope you know that you are making a mistake." Geralt continued. 

The assassin watched him from the shadows for a few moments, before stepping out into the light. They were tall, about the same size as himself, dressed in red and black studded armour. He did not recognise it as belonging to either Nilfgaard or any assassin's guild with which Geralt was familiar. There was a hood pulled over their head, but a few wisps of dark hair fell loose in front of their face, which itself was obscured by a mask which covered their nose and mouth. They studied Geralt with piercing red eyes, which seemed to swirl and glint curiously in the firelight. They took one step forward towards him, the smell of Chaos cloyed Geralt's senses, and the assassin reached for their daggers.

Immediately, Geralt lunged towards them, his own dagger aimed towards their chest. They dodged his attack easily, their feet light as they darted away. Geralt turned and steadied himself, grinding his teeth, and watched as the assassin fully drew their blades and dropped into a stance much like his own. He glanced behind them, to where his swords were laying and began to move to the left, circling the assassin. He suppressed a smile as they rose to the bait, moving in unison with him. The assassin twirled their blades nimbly in their hands and narrowed their blood-red eyes at Geralt. 

They circled each other for a few moments longer. 

"Why are you here?" Geralt asked, his eyes not leaving his opponent's, "Who sent you?

The assassin scrutinised him, before they seemed to tire of the game the two of them were now locked in. They ducked forward, slashing both of their blades at Geralt. He sidestepped to miss their blows, but not before one of the daggers caught him across his stomach, where his armour would usually stop it from doing any damage. He glanced down briefly, assessing his wound - it wasn't deep, only a few inches across, but the bleeding had already stopped, and he could his skin fusing back together. The assassin shuffled beside him, preparing for another attack, when Geralt made the first move, springing on them from above, his dagger angled into their neck. Just as he predicted, they dodged away, and Geralt landed behind them in a forward roll. The assassin rounded on him, something akin to amusement in their eyes before Geralt leapt up and scrabbled toward his swords.

Behind him, the assassin hissed, before the sound of a blade let loose came hurtling up behind him. He ducked before it could make impact with his back, instead, it buried itself in the dark oak wall above his swords. Before he could react, his opponent was on him again, now spinning towards him with one dagger. Geralt parried each of his attacks; left, right, left, right, until he was backed up against the wall. At the assassin's next strike, he cut under their arm, coming up behind them and grabbing their wrist. He bent their arm, forward, forward, until the blade was placed up against their throat.

"I asked," he growled, "who sent you?". The assassin's throat bobbed against the dagger before they ground out a low chuckle.

Stunned, Geralt loosened his grip on the assassin's wrist minutely, but that was enough. The assassin let go of the blade, which only narrowly missed Geralt's foot as it fell to the ground, and shoved him off their back with a strength that he had never before seen a human possess. He stumbled, and his opponent cornered him once again. With a kick to his chest, Geralt fell onto his back with a groan. The assassin kneeled over him, their knees on either side of his chest, pinning his arms on the ground.

"What are you?" Geralt ground out, "Your heartbeat is human, but you stench of Chaos, and you're really fucking strong. What are you?"

The assassin laughed again, sick satisfaction in their eyes, as their hands came up to grasp around his neck. He kicked out with his legs, but they held firm, grip only tightening the more Geralt struggled.

Geralt could last a long time without air; his witcher mutations slowed his heartbeat, so he only needed to breathe half as often as a human did. But even he could only last so many minutes, and the assassin seemed content to keep their hands clasped around his throat for all of them, an immovable force despite all of Geralt's attempts to escape. After a while, Geralt could feel his lungs begin to seize painfully in his chest and his head beginning to thrum with every beat of his slowing heart. His hands twitched at his sides, his back arched, and dark spots began to appear at the edge of his vision. 

This was it. This was where he got too slow for the path.

He let his eyes slip shut in defeat, unconsciousness tugging at the frays of his mind. Just before he slipped under, however, the hands loosened, and on instinct, Geralt tugged in a lungful of air. His eyes flew open, just in time to see the assassin reach into their boot to pull out another dagger and sit back on their haunches as they angled it downwards towards his chest. He began to sit up, but his limbs were too heavy and his reflexes too sluggish to block the dagger as it came down and buried itself in his shoulder, mere inches above his heart. 

The assassin raised to their feet, gazing down at where Geralt lay, before tugging something out from inside their armour and dropping it down on his chest. He watched through half-lidded eyes as they stalked over to where their other two daggers lay abandoned on the floor, picking them up and placing them back into the scabbards around their waist. They gave Geralt one last look before they slipped out the door.

Geralt only had enough energy to reach up to his shoulder to pull out the blade, before his eyes rolled back, and he freefell into oblivion.

* * *

Geralt came around slowly, then all at once. He surged up, hands clutching the sheets of the bed he found himself laying in, desperately reaching for his sword, though it was nowhere to be found. There was a cry of alarm next to him, and the screech of a chair being pushed backwards. He looked to his left to see the barkeep up against the wall, holding a handful of bloodied bandages.

"I was just changing your bandages," she gestured to his shoulder, "I didn't want it to get infected".

Geralt automatically reached up to touch the clean dressing over his wound, recalling what happened before he had fallen unconscious 

He turned to the woman,"How long was I out?"

"A few hours, we heard a struggle upstairs, so I came to investigate just in time to see you pull a dagger out of your shoulder and pass out in a pool of your blood." she hesitated, "Are you going to kill me?"

Geralt furrowed his brow, "Why would I...?" his eyes widened in realisation, "You were the one who let the assassin into my room."

The barkeep shook her head, "I didn't know they were an assassin." she said, helplessly, "They arrived just before yourself, said that there would be a witcher looking to stay here, told me that they would pay me a lot if I let them into your room."

"Did they say who had sent them?" Geralt asked

"No idea", she looked at him warily, "So, are you?"

"Am I..." he sighed, "No, I'm not going to kill you. You aren't the first person to betray me, and you won't be the last. And I certainly won't be your last."

The woman heaved a sigh of relief, "Thank you, thank you!"

Geralt sat up further, reaching out with one hand to the barkeep, "Can I see the dagger?"

The woman nodded her head, albeit looking confused, "Of course". She opened the bedside draw beside Geralt, and began to pull out the dagger, before glancing to Geralt, "Though I suppose most people wouldn't be too keen on looking at the weapon which almost killed them?"

Geralt hummed, "I guess I'm not like most people." he said, simply, and the woman shrugged, holding out the dagger.

Geralt's heart dropped. He knew the blade in front of him, it's swirling design of blue and silver was as recognisable to his as the back of his own hand. It was he who had had it commissioned it years ago, at a blacksmith in Novigrad. Geralt was on his way to Oxenfurt to meet with Jaskier, it was a gift. Jaskier carried it with him at all times, and never let it out of his sight.

"The letter" he choked out, "The assassin left a letter with me. Give it to me."

The barkeep reached into the bedside draw once again, and handed him a slightly blood-stained envelope, "Are you okay?" she asked.

Geralt did not answer her, instead ripping into the letter. There was no note inside, only a lock of hair, and when Geralt raised it to his nose, his stomach turned, his worst suspicions confirmed.

"Fuck."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to drop a kudo and a comment if you enjoyed, it does brighten my day :)


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Yennefer make a good team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!TWs below!!!  
> Here is another chapter - this one was actually the first one I wrote of this fic. I would just like to reiterate that this fic is nowhere near canon-compliant so please just take everything that's happening with a grain of salt. I forgot to mention last time that the assassin's armour is based on the Dark Brotherhood shrouded armour from Skyrim if you wanted a visual reference. Also, the spell used in this chapter is inspired by one in Supernatural. Anyway, enjoy! - achilles
> 
> !!!TWs!!!  
> mention of injury in the fight from the last chapter.

Finding Yennefer had never been a difficult task. Even before Geralt and Ciri had reunited with her, he was easily able to track her from one town to the next, although he used this ability more to avoid Yennefer rather than purposefully cross paths with her. It was the smell of Chaos that seemed to trail her across the continent, Geralt would tell himself when he would invariably pick up her scent again once every few months. Deep down, however, he knew it was nothing other than the Djinn's magic that was tugging them blindly back to one another. He had made the mistake of mentioning this to Yennifer once, and her rage had been scalding and unyielding. She would never let herself bow to anyone or anything, least of all the whims of something as contended as destiny. They didn't talk for two months after that conversation until she sent a letter saying Ciri was going mad with grief over his absence. She wasn't, of course, but he understood it for what it really was - a peace offering from Yennefer, and a silent warning to not mention the Djinn again.

Geralt didn't need anything to find her this time, not the acrid stench of chaos, nor the pull of so-called fate. It was a small mercy he supposed, now more than ever, that Yennefer had set up a somewhat permanent cabin just outside of Vengerberg. It was a small place, just one floor, with an ingredients garden, and a stable for when Geralt visited between hunts. When Geralt had first laid eyes upon it, he had huffed out a laugh of surprise - it was too modest, too simple, not like anything the Yennefer he knew would choose. When he brought it up with her she had glared at him, violet eyes full of exasperation, and her voice dripping with sarcasm,

"Of course, Geralt,' she had said, 'the entire Nilfgaardian army are after us, and I'm going to build a mansion." she slapped him on the arm, 'Some of us are trying to be inconspicuous, you fool.'

It was a half-day ride from Vengerberg to the cabin. The previous night Geralt had spent in an inn in a small village just outside the main city, but sleep had eluded him, and meditation proved fruitless. He hid the dagger and the note in the bottom draw of the dresser and lay with his back turned to it. But their presence weighed heavily on his mind, and as soon as the sun began to rise, he had fled the inn and began the ride to the cabin.

Even on the road, Geralt found himself restless, and he urged Roach onwards, to go farther, to go faster. Under this encouragement, and the promise of treats at their destination, Roach made the half-day ride in just over three hours. 

The dagger was a dead weight on Geralt's waist all the while, every gallop causing light from the early morning sun to glint off its intricate design of silver and blue. Geralt continued determinedly ignored it, forcing his gaze to remain steadfastly looking forward. Occasionally, its taunting gleam caught his eye, and his stomach would seize, and bile would claw its way up his throat. It was in those moments, all he wanted to do was slide off Roach and scream into the forest, to throw the dagger into the undergrowth never to be seen again. But Jaskier was already living on borrowed time, and Geralt refused to fail him again.

He reached Yennefer's cabin at around mid-morning, so exhausted he almost toppled off Roach when they came to an abrupt halt outside the front gate. She immediately mollified herself by chewing at the dandelions which Ciri insisted they grew especially for her, and Geralt patted her absentmindedly on the neck, before beginning to walk up the path through the garden to the front door. 

Before he could reach it, however, it was flung open, and a flash of blonde darted out, grabbing Geralt's waist in a clumsy hug.

"Hey, Ciri" Geralt fell to his knees so he could pull her into a proper embrace.

"It's been so long" she said, her voice muffled from where her head was pushed into his shoulders.

"I know, I'm sorry', he gripped her tighter. For a moment, lost himself in the hug, before a cough pulled him out of his stupor. Geralt looked up to see Yennefer stood in the doorway. dressed in a black silk dress, one which Geralt would have teased her about at any other time for being entirely inappropriate for the season.

She stepped out to greet him, a smile fluttering on her lips, and he rose to meet her brief hug, hand still gripping Ciri's. "Well, Geralt," She said, "I must say we weren't expecting you today. Would it have inconvenienced you so to write ahead..." She pulled away from him, trailing off when she took a proper look at Geralt.

He knew how ragged his appearance must have been; dark bags from near-constant riding from Flotsam to Vengerberg, and from Vengerberg to the cabin; his hair matted from sweat from days under the blistering summer sun; his face gaunt from his lack of appetite.

"Oh dear," she said simply, under her breath, looking at him before turning to Ciri "Take Roach to the stable, make sure she has water and food, she's had a long few days, then continue your sword training. Geralt and I need to talk privately for a while."

"But..." Ciri began to object, but she cut herself off, seeming to sense the severity of the situation. Sighing, she took Roach's reigns and began to lead her around the back of the house, muttering that she would steal some sugar cubes from the kitchen after dinner for them to share.

Geralt watched them go fondly before Yennefer's gaze began to burn into the side of his face. Slowly, he turned his head to meet her eyes.

"I need your help," he said, lamely.

"Yes, I figured that much" she turned and began to make her way back up the path.

"Let's take this inside, shall we?"

* * *

Yennefer led him into the main room of the cabin, ducking through the doorway to avoid the herbs hanging from the ceiling. She waved her hand,

"We've been practising Ciri's potion-making skills," she said, as she cleared empty potion bottles and alchemy equipment from the large wooden table which sat in the centre of the room, "She's quite good."

"Hmm," Geralt sat on one of the benches which lay either side of the table.

"Right" Yennefer muttered, and sat down opposite him, "What's going on?"

Geralt sighed, and reached to his waist, unsheathing the dagger and slamming it onto the table. He looked at Yennefer expectantly.

"Okay..." she reached towards it, meaning to touch the dagger, but pulling her hand away when she earned a glare from Geralt. "What is this?"

"It's his." Geralt said simply, and Yennefer shook her head, confused. He sighed, "It's Jaskier's"

Yennefer gazed at him a moment before rolling her eyes, "Geralt, I swear to the Gods, if you're asking me to track him so you can go and pester him, I will cut your..."

"That's not why I'm here." Geralt growled, "An assassin was sent for me when I was in Flotsam, I don't know who by" he pulled down his collar to show the mostly-healed wound on his shoulder, "but they were good. I was unprepared. I was stabbed with this dagger," he gestured to the weapon in front of him, "before they ran. They could have killed me, but they didn't."

"You think it was on purpose?" Yennefer's brow furrowed.

"I think it was a message."

"The assassin could have gotten ahold of it some other way? Jaskier could have sold it, or lost it."

"And leave it with their still very much alive victim? Come on, Yennefer."

"It could be a trap, to lure you in. God knows how many enemies you must have."

Geralt sighed, "I found this in my room after the assassin left me." he pulled out the letter with the hair, pushing it across the table towards Yennefer.

She frowned, "Is that...?"

"Yes." Geralt caught her eye across the table, "Yenn, I wouldn't be asking if I didn't think something had happened. Please."

Yennefer looked between both the objects on the table and Geralt for a few moments, before making a move to stand,  


"Okay," she said, sounding resigned, "Yes, I'll help you." Geralt heaved out a sigh of relief,

"We've got everything I need for the spell here, including some of the bard," she gingerly plucked the lock of hair in between her thumb and forefinger, "but it will take a few hours to prepare."

She began to line up ingredients and equipment on the table. "While I'm doing this, you can go and sleep"  


"Yennefer, for fuck's sake..." Geralt started,

"You look dead on your feet, Wolf. How can you expect to save Jaskier if you can barely keep yourself awake? Besides, there's nothing you can do while I complete this." She shoved a finger in his chest, "Go. And. Sleep."

Geralt was about to argue, but fatigue was rapidly settling into his bones, and all of the defiance drained out of him. He turned and trailed out of the room, falling face-first onto the bed in their room, and drifted into slumber to the soft tinkling of Yennefer's spell-brewing.

* * *

It was early afternoon when he was shaken awake by a hand on his shoulder. He blinked open his eyes to see Ciri sat beside him.

"You're supposed to be training," he said, pushing himself up into a sitting position, swiping a hand across his face.  


"That was three hours ago, Geralt." she said, mock- exasperation tinging her voice, "anyway, Yennefer and I have been practising alchemy, and she wanted me to watch how to make a tracking potion"  


"It's ready?"  


Ciri nodded her head, before reaching to grip his hand, "Geralt, Yennefer wouldn't tell me who it was for..." she looked at him with wide, inquisitive eyes.  


Geralt considered for a second, "It's for my friend, Jaskier."  


"Jaskier? as in the bard?" Geralt huffed out a laugh. Of course Ciri knew him already, "He used to play at my birthday every year" she trailed off, a haunted look clouding her eyes. Geralt squeezed her hand,  


"Yes, that Jaskier. But we haven't talked for a long time..." he shook his head, "I said some things to him that I need to apologise for."  


"Yennefer said whoever it was for was in trouble. Is he...?"  


"I think so, but don't worry." Geralt pulled her into a hug, "I'm going to help him."  


Ciri smiled at him, then stood and began to move to the doorway. She stopped, turned and beckoned him to follow, "Yennefer is waiting for you."

Geralt followed Ciri into the main room, where Yennefer was waiting. She was standing over the table, where a large candle was burning, holding a bowl of green liquid in one hand and a map in the other. She glanced up as they entered the room, 

"Come here, Geralt" she said, motioning for him to stand next to her, "This will help you narrow down Jaskier's location to a half-mile radius. I trust you can track him from there?"  


"Hmm," Geralt nodded.  


"Okay, then. Here we go." Yennefer poured the mixture in the bowl over the map, muttering words in Elder as she did so, before holding one of the corners over the candle. All at once, the map was all alight in a brilliant green flame, and Yennefer dropped it on the table. Geralt watched as the paper burned away, visible map turning more and more to grey ash until suddenly the fire went out as if doused with water. He looked to Yennifer, expectantly.  


"Did it work?" asked Ciri, and Yennifer scoffed.  


"Of course it did, everything I do works" She held up the remainder of the map, a perfect circle, an inch wide, around a hamlet labelled Redwater. She passed it to him.  


"This is where Jaskier is?" he asked, taking the paper from her  


"Well, somewhere in that area."  


Geralt shook his head, "I've never heard of it"  


"I'm guessing that's what whoever took the bard is counting on. Luckily for you, I have passed through Redwater once or twice, its good for gathering ingredients."  


"You'll portal me there?" he asked.  


"I'm feeling especially generous today, if not for you then for your poor bard." She smiled at him weakly, before she sighed "I can't come with you though, Wolf, I have things to attend to here"  


Geralt shook his head, "I wouldn't want you to" he replied, although it was a lie, one which he knew Yennefer could see though as if it were glass.  


"Yeah, right." she grabbed his shoulders and turned him out the door. "Go and get your stuff. I'll meet you outside in five minutes"

Geralt hurried through grabbing his stuff from where Ciri had dumped it from bringing it in off Roach. He took only his swords, and a small pouch containing a few vital potions: Cat, Swallow, Blizzard, White Honey, and the healing salve. He considered taking Jaskier's dagger, just in case he needed help in the fight, but decided against it. Jaskier would most likely not be in the condition to wield it when Geralt got to him.

Yennefer and Ciri were already waiting for him outside, and he walked over to meet them. Yennefer looked him up and down, 

"Are you ready to go?" she asked, and when Geralt hummed an affirmative, she moved in front of him, "Step back".  


She made a few motions with her hand, and Geralt caught the scent of Chaos which cloyed the air. The wind whipped up around them, and a small portal opened up opposite them, growing larger and larger until it was as tall as Geralt. Yennefer turned triumphantly to him, and he gave her a small, thankful smile.

He had taken not two steps towards the portal when he was stopped by a small hand on his arm. He turned to see Ciri beside him.  


"Be careful, Geralt," she said, "please."  


"Of course." he pulled her into a hug, "I'll be back soon" he promised.  


Yennefer stepped up beside her, holding something out to Geralt. He took it from her, turning it over in his palm; it was a small vial, no bigger than his thumb, filled with an incandescent light, strung on a string.  


"It's a beacon spell" she explained, "If you need help, if Jaskier is..." she cut herself off, "Just break it, and I'll be with you as soon as I can"  


He pulled it over his head, "Thank you Yennefer, for everything"  


She smiled, reached up and pressed a kiss to his cheek, before pushing him towards the portal. "Go and bring your bard home." 

With one last look back at his family, Geralt stepped into the portal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to drop a kudo and a comment if you enjoyed, it does brighten my day :)


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt follows Jaskier's last footsteps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!TWs below!!!  
> Hi guys :) this chapter was by far one of the hardest to write, and I'm still not happy with it but I thought I might as well upload it instead of reading it over for the hundredth time. I'm sorry it's not the most interesting, but I couldn't progress the story without it, so I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Don't worry, in the next chapter more exciting things will happen!! - achilles
> 
> !!!TWs!!!  
> Mentions of blood.  
> Talk of a fire which caused many deaths and the survivors.

Redwater, as it turned out, was a tiny place in the middle of Temeria. Comprising of only a few houses and even fewer shops, it was not surprising to Geralt that he hadn't encountered it before on his travels. As he followed the single dirt track which led through the centre of the village, it seemed to him that the entire 300 resident population had flocked out that day. As Geralt passed by the blacksmith, the carpenter, the two apothecaries, and the butcher, he couldn't help but notice that many of them had queues which lead out of their doors and down the road. Such a thing's unusuality flashed briefly across Geralt's mind, but he did not allow himself time to ponder it. Jaskier was somewhere here, he just had to look. 

The scent of flowers and herbs, which Geralt had seen growing along the edge of the lake which took up half the village, and the sounds of chatter drifted through the air on the gentle breeze, which itself helped break the heat of the mid-afternoon sun. The day seemed so safe and peaceful, but Geralt couldn't ignore the tugging deep in his chest which was telling him that something very, very wrong. 

He spent another few minutes looking around the village, trying to find any clues about Jaskier's location, but there was not even the slightest sign that the bard had ever been here at all. The tugging feeling became more urgent; either Yennefer's tracking spell hadn't worked correctly, or Jaskier hadn't been in the actual village for a long while. Geralt eventually pulled a woman over to ask after the tavern, figuring that it would be the best place to begin his inquiries over Jaskier's whereabouts. If he was ever here, it would have most likely been to perform. The woman nodded and pointed him down a sidestreet, but she grabbed his arm before he could set off. She told him, with an indistinguishable look, that if he was looking for a bed, he would be best to try a few towns over. Geralt shrugged it off - he had been told that many times before, and although it annoyed him the first few times it happened he had grown used to it over the years, and Blaviken had only exacerbated the issue. That was, of course, until Jaskier. 

The tavern was as small as the town itself, a narrow two-story building nestled in between the houses. The only thing which made it distinguishable from the buildings around it was a large sign which swung above the door, a strange image depicting an ox being roasted above a fire, the words 'The Brazen Bull' emblazoned in cast-iron letters below. As Geralt neared the establishment, he was taken aback - the usual tavern noise of drunken brawling was replaced by low chatter and the sound of babies crying. He looked up at the bull once, then once again, checking to make sure that it was the correct building, before opening the doors. 

As soon as Geralt stepped inside, the sweltering heat hit Geralt like a punch to the face. There was a large heath in the centre of the room, but the fire was only smouldering, minutes away from flickering out entirely. However, from end to end, every available bit of space was occupied by people. Men, women, children, all of them were sat around the fire - some were talking, some silent, but all of them had the same haunted looks in their eyes. The tables and benches had been pulled together along one side of the room, and many were using them as makeshift beds. Some turned to him as he stepped into the tavern, a familiar, dreadful look clouding each of their features. Geralt had seen it many times before, from those whose homes, families, lives were destroyed by the monsters he hunted. If it were any other time, if fate had been any kinder, Geralt would find out what happened, he'd try to help them.

He made his way through the tavern towards the bar, stepping over the many bedrolls that were strewed over the floor. A man of about forty was sat behind the bar, eyes unseeing as he gazed into the middle distance. He startled as Geralt sat down opposite him, although he quickly recovered and began to fill a tankard of ale. 

"If you are looking for a place to stay, I'm afraid we have no room here."  


"That won't be necessary," Geralt replied, and the man stopped, turning around and looking at his customer properly for the first time.  


"Are you that White Wolf fellow we've been hearing about?" he asked, eyes wide. Geralt hummed, and his eyes grew even wider, "Good. I've got a job for you."  


Geralt shook his head, in what he hoped was an apologetic fashion, "I'm not here to work, I'm looking for someone. Did a bard pass through here, went by Jaskier, or perhaps Dandelion".  


The man worked his lip between his teeth, "I mean, yes, we had a bard pass through, but that was ages ago." He gave Geralt a remorseful look, "I can't remember his name though. A lot's happened since then" he gestured to the crowd of people.  


"Do you know what he looked like?"  


"Um, brown hair, I think. Blue eyes, very loud. He sang a lot of songs about you"  


"That sounds like Jaskier. How long ago was he here?"  


The man rubbed a hand over his face, "It must have been a good three or four weeks ago now, but it could be more." 

Geralt grimaced. That was not a good sign.  


"Did he talk to anyone?"  


The man laughed, "He was a bard, all he did was talk. Although," he leant over the bar, deep in thought "there was another man here that caught my eye. Weird-looking, like. I didn't recognise him, he must have been passing through. I thought I saw your bard chatting to him after his set, he looked pretty torn up over something. I think they left together. "  


"They left the tavern?"  


The man shook his head, "No. They left town"  


Geralt felt as if there had been a blow to his chest, "Did you see which way they went?"  


"North, on the road out of Redwater, towards Dorian."  


"Fuck. I have to go." Geralt hauled himself up, his limbs feeling heavy with dread, and took a few coins out of his bag. He held them out to the barkeep, which he gratefully accepted, "Thank you for your help."  


"Witcher," the man called after him "I know you say you aren't here to hunt but I feel I must warn you. Be careful out on the roads around these parts, there's something terrible out there"  


Geralt turned to him again, "What do you mean?"  


"A person, dressed in red and black." the man leant closer to him, dropping his voice to a whisper "they burnt the next town south to the ground. That's why..."  


"I'm sorry," Geralt said helplessly,  


"No, you don't understand. Farwick had a population of over 600 people. the only survivors of the fire are those in this room." he looked close to tears, "I know you witchers aren't in the business of killing humans, but right now there's nothing more monstrous than whoever did this. If you see them, you won't let them walk away, will you?"  


Geralt looked at him for a few moments, but eventually, he conceded and nodded "I'll do what I can,"  


"Thank you. I always knew you were a good man. I hope you find your bard." The man offered him a watery smile before walking off to make the rounds with the survivors.

Geralt shook his head. Yes, something was very wrong.

* * *

The road out of Redwater was quiet, unusually so. All Geralt could hear for miles was the sound of Roach's hooves rhythmically hitting the dusty road beneath her. There was no birdsong, no scuffle of animals, just the constant, horrible silence which seemed to thicken the air around them. He followed the road as crested a hill, leaving Redwater behind them and out of sight, and twisted into a dense forest. 

In the trees, the silence only became more oppressive. Geralt was used to the sounds of the forest, he had travelled with it as his companion for many decades and found it comforting. But here it seemed that he and Roach were the only living things which had stepped into the woods for weeks. Around him, there were signs that there had once been animals living there; a bird's nest in the branches above his head, faded tracks of a fox across the road, a badger's set - all weeks old, all abandoned.

Every few minutes, Geralt stopped Roach, climbing off her back to examine their surroundings for anything which might lead him to Jaskier. He combed through the undergrowth intently for anything which may have indicated a scuffle or fight, like a spot of blood or a broken tree branch. He knew that, although he might have left with the man from the tavern, Jaskier wouldn't put himself into direct danger, and he wouldn't willingly let himself be hurt without putting up a fight. Each time, however, there was never any sign of the bard, and Geralt remounted Roach and carried on down the track. 

He continued like that for about a quarter of a mile, becoming increasingly more agitated and desperate as every hundred yards yielded no more information than the last about his friend's last steps. He was considering turning and riding back into Redwater when something made his heart stand still. 

He came to an abrupt halt. He was sure he had... yes, there it was, ever so faintly in the wind. Jaskier's scent. Geralt dismounted Roach, grabbed her reigns, and brought her up to the nearest tree, looping them over the trunk until she was securely hitched. 

"Good girl" he whispered to her, "Jaskier's around here, I know it". 

Geralt made a few rounds of the area, trying and failing to catch the bard's scent again. Suddenly, his foot hit something hard in the ferns on the side of the road, just as his eye caught something glinting in the light. He bent down and pushed through the plants with his hands.

There nestled among the ferns was a piece of wood. Geralt's stomach turned, but he forced his hands to be steady as he pulled at it. It resisted for a second before it gave way, revealing the fretboard of a lute, and them the rounded body. He tightened his jaw - the markings up and down the wood were unmistakable. This was Jaskier's lute, the one that Filavandral gifted him all those years ago at the Edge of the World. He turned the instrument reverently a few times, hands tracing the carved swirls. One of the strings was broken, and it's twisted metal scatted light patterns onto the ground around Geralt. He knew that this was Jaskier's most precious possession, that he wouldn't have gone far without it. He had seen him carry it to and from even the gravest situations many times before. Geralt stood up slowly, eyes darting around the treeline, until they landed on a trunk a few yards away. To the human eye, it would not have seemed out of the ordinary, but Geralt could see the distinct smear of blood across the bark, and as he wandered closer, he could see it that many trees leading into the forest had similar marks. His nostrils flared. It was a trail, Jaskier had left him a trail. 

He hurried to Roach and looped the lute around her saddle. He didn't know whether it was in any condition to be played anymore, but he knew that Jaskier would want it back. He grabbed his swords and bags, 

"Be good," he said, patting Roach on the neck, "I'll be back soon."

He followed the trail through the woods for a few minutes, making sure to tread lightly, until he reached an area where the ground suddenly dipped down into a hollow. About thirty yards across and just as deep, jagged boulders lined each side of the ditch, looking as if they had shredded their way out of the earth to be in the sun. Geralt made no hesitation to scramble down the edges to the bottom, where he could see his surroundings more clearly. In the deepest part of the pit, nestled into the cliff-face, was a cave, its mouth a gaping void. The heady, familiar scent of Jaskier's blood was much thicker here, and Geralt could see it was smeared across the rocks leading into the cavern. Geralt's medallion began to thrum on his chest, the intensity of its vibrations increasing as he wandered closer to the cave, and the bitter scent of chaos filled his senses. 

From inside the cave came the overpowering sound of running water, but Geralt could just about make out the faint sound of two steady heartbeats, hidden somewhere in the rocks in front of him. Geralt reached behind him and removed Cat from his pouch, pulling the cork off with his teeth and drinking it down in one swallow. Immediately he felt the effects take hold, everything becoming brighter as if all the shadows had been suddenly stripped away. He took a deep breath against the unfamiliar feeling of fear which had settled into his bones, drew his sword, and ventured into the cave.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An encounter in the cave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!TWs below!!!  
> Another chapter! I honestly loved writing this so much, so I really hope you enjoy it. I've never had much chance to write this much dialogue before so this has been a really fun exercise. Also I literally just made up werewolf lore for this please don't come after me - achilles
> 
> !!!TWs!!!  
> Knives and blades  
> A moderately graphic description of a dead body  
> Mention of blood  
> Brief mention of torture

The cave system was bigger than it appeared to be on the outside, the mouth of the cave opened out slowly until it created a corridor twice as tall as Geralt. He followed the fissure down, scrambling over loose rocks and boulders, till the light from above ground dwindled until it was more than a pinprick behind him. Eventually, the descent levelled out into a small platform, from which Geralt made the short drop into yet another corridor-like structure. The sound of the heartbeats had become steadily louder as he had traversed the cave, but here it echoed off the rock around him and thumped steadily in his ears. He knew that he was getting close. Geralt could see a small burst of light from one end of the passage, and caught the telltale scent of fire in the air, He crouched and began to walk silently forwards. 

The passage continued like this for a few hundred feet, the smell of woodsmoke and Chaos in the air gradually becoming thicker, before it began to open up into a natural archway. Behind this, Geralt could hear the two heartbeats clearly. He made sure he stepped in the shadows and stayed close to the ground as he passed through. In front of him were a few pillars of rock, and he rushed behind one, stopping to catch his breath for a second, before he slowly peered around it and into the main chamber. 

Sunlight speckled down through holes in the rounded ceiling, illuminating the darkness beneath it. From where Geralt was standing, he could see that the chamber was made from a solid outcrop of grey rock, half of which was hanging precariously over a large chasm. The water that had been trickling slowly through the cave system had culminated into a huge waterfall, which thundered at one end of the cavern into the rift below. Overhead, huge stalactites loomed, glistening with condensation, their jagged tips so low that they almost scraped the floor. In the centre of the floor, a bonfire burned, its flames flickering high into the air, pushing dark shadows into the farthest reaches of the cave. A man was stood to the left of this at a small wooden table. His back was to Geralt and his head was bowed low as he worked on something indistinguishable. Above him, something screeched and Geralt snapped his head up automatically. A large creature, which he hadn't noticed before, was sat in an alcove on the far end of the cavern. It spread its wings, a dark silhouette against the rock, and flapped once, twice, and took flight. He watched as it circled the chamber a few times, before arching upwards and disappearing through one of the gaps into the sunlight.

"I knew you would come" 

Geralt froze, eyes flicking back forwards to see that the man by the fire was now leaning against the table, staring directly at him,  


"I know you're there, Geralt. Come on out, don't be shy" he called.  


Geralt grit his teeth, quietly berating himself for getting so easily distracted and stepped out from his place behind the pillar of rock. He raised his sword, and his eyes locked with the ones in front of him. A smirk danced across the man's lips as he watched him emerge,  


"Ah now, There's no need for weapons," he flicked his head to the side, and Geralt felt a weight at his back. Before he could react, an arm curled over his shoulders, and something cool and sharp settled against his jugular. Geralt growled, tilting his head sideways to see the face of the masked assassin staring back at him, eyes narrowed in barely-concealed amusement. The blade pressed more firmly against his throat, and a slither of warm blood trickled down his neck and onto his collarbone.  


"Please Geralt, put that down before someone gets hurt."  


Geralt's lip curled, but he dropped his sword anyway, wincing as it clattered jarringly onto the rock. 

The man smiled, his eyes flickering to the assassin behind him, "The other one, if you please?"  


Without moving the dagger from his throat, the assassin swiftly unsheathed Geralt's silver sword from his back and threw it to the floor next to the other, kicking both of them away across the stone.  


"Oh, don't look so surprised," the man said, "I could sense the Chaos coming off of you the minute you set foot into the forest. Now, please," he gestured to a stool which was placed about three feet in front of him, "sit."  


When Geralt did not move, he chuckled darkly, "I don't believe that that was a request".  


The assassin moved even closer behind him, and Geralt felt the recognisable press of another dagger up against the small of his back. The assassin huffed out a small laugh behind his mask, and he bit back a snarl.  


"Sit" the man repeated, harsher this time, and Geralt allowed himself to be guided to the stool.

He was forced him into the chair by the assassin with one hand, who withdrew the dagger from his neck but left the one pressed into his spine. The man opposite him stood for a few moments longer, before he turned and pulled out a second stall from beneath the table. He placed it in front of Geralt and sat. 

Closer to the fire, Geralt was more easily able to see his captor. He was a gaunt man, whose flesh looked as if it had been stretched out over his bones. His pale skin seemed to take on an almost translucent quality in the light, so much so that as he moved his head, Geralt could pick up on the blue hues of the veins underneath his skin. His grey eyes flickered over Geralt's face, appraising him coldly,

"Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken, we finally meet," he said after a few beats.  


Geralt bared his teeth, "Who are you?"  


The man smirked but didn't answer, instead tilting his head and continuing to examine Geralt, who tightened his fist at his side,  


"Who are you?" He asked again.  


"I'm nobody, at least not to you." The man bent forwards, peering at him, "But that's not why you're here. What is it you really want to ask?"  


"Where is Jaskier?"  


"Who?" the man leant back and inspected his nails, feigning nonchalance.  


"Don't play dumb with me," Geralt growled, "I can hear your heartbeat. You know who I'm talking about."  


The man brought a hand up to his chin, "What is it you said his name was again? Jaskier?" Geralt's jaw tightened, and the man's lip curled upwards, "Jaskier. Jaskier. Oh yes" he leaned towards Geralt again, "I remember now. The bard from the tavern in Redwater. Ah, what a nice man. "  


He bristled, "What have you done with him?"  


"I didn't bring you here to talk about your shadow," the man huffed.  


"Then why the fuck am I here?"

The man stood and walked over to the table. He looked over his shoulder, "You may not know me, Witcher, but I know you."  


Geralt concealed a sigh, "Whatever point you are trying to make, whatever game you are playing, I'm not interested, so just get it over with."  


The man spun around abruptly, grabbing a knife from off of the table and holding it to Geralt's throat, "No. " he shouted, "You do not get to tell me what to do, not now, not ever." Geralt swallowed against the blade, and the man's hand trembled almost imperceptibly, "Do you truly not remember me?"  


Geralt shook his head, "You said it yourself, you're nobody to me" 

The man snarled, pulling the knife away from his throat and slamming it back down on the table. "Sixteen years ago I was living in Breza," he said as he began to circle Geralt, "and there had been a bout of killings around the village. Not terrible, just a few cows and sheep, but they were people's livelihoods and we weren't exactly known for being the most well-off community anyway. There wasn't much we could do ourselves, because we were farmers, not fighters, and we couldn't risk leaving our families to go chasing after whatever was mutilating the livestock. So we came up with a plan. We would all band together, all of the townsfolk, and put together some money to pay for a Witcher's help when one next came through."  


Geralt sighed, "That Witcher was me,"

The man let out a mirthless laugh, "Your powers of inference astound me. Yes, of course, it was you. Anyway, you came along, all silver hair and golden eyes, and we'd heard the songs about the White Wolf from that bard of yours. We knew all about your victories against all these different monsters, so we knew we were in safe hands. We gave you the coin upfront, and you immediately went off into the woods to hunt whatever it was. You were gone for a few days, and I guess we all thought you had fucked off with the money and left us to rot. But on the fourth night, you came back to the village, stormed into the tavern, pointed at my best friend Mattias, who I had known for years, and told us he was the one who had been killing all the animals.  


"Of course we didn't believe you at first, but you sat us down and laid it all out, and I had to admit it made sense. The killings were only happening every month or so, and always on the full moon. Coincidently, every full moon the town would get together in the tavern to celebrate as per tradition, and Mattias never showed."  


The man looked away, a tear glinting in the firelight as it trickled down his face, "We let you take him out back and slaughter him in the woods. You came in and we had a drink to celebrate, all of us pretending we hadn't just heard our friend's agonising screams.  


"Life went back to normal after that, though the apothecary that Mattias ran had to shut since no-one else had any experience with the trade, but it was a small price to pay for the safety of our live-stock."

Geralt could remember the hunt now, the horrible grief-filled thanks the villager's gave him after he had killed the werewolf. Geralt watched the man carefully as he leant back on the table again, "I did the job, so why did you take Jaskier? Why am I here?"  


"Because you didn't do your fucking job, you bastard." the man seethed, "The killings started back up again a few weeks after you left, and we had just wasted all our coin on a Witcher who murdered one of the villagers instead of actually killing the thing that did it."  


"Were the murders still happening on the full moon?"  


"No, now it was much more frequent, every week rather than every month. But we dealt with it; we bought more livestock to replace those that we lost, and we started to put together another pot of money to pay somebody else who could stop the killings. That was until I came home one night after a few hours at the tavern, and walked into the bedroom to find my wife with her body ripped in two and her organs all over the floor." The man glared at him, fury and barely concealed pain boiling in his eyes, "Whatever had killed the livestock decided to move onto people. Because of you, Geralt of Rivia, I lost both my best friend and the love of my life in less than two months."  


Geralt could smell the sadness rolling off the man in front of him, "I'm sorry about what happened to your wife," he said, shaking his head in sincere apology, "I am. But it was your friend who was killing the animals," 

The man shook his head vehemently. "You ruined my life. I left Breza straight after the attack and spent the next year alone. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, I was on the verge of death before a mage took me in."  


"Listen to me," Geralt said, "I can remember the hunt. I tracked your friend through the woods on the full moon, I watched him as he transformed."  


"Bullshit." the man pulled back a fist and threw it across his face. Geralt tasted iron on the back of his tongue, "If that were true, what happened to my wife?"  


"Monsters are opportunistic. Where the werewolf was hunting was a highly sought-after territory, his death left a gap in the food chain. It was perfect for another creature to move in."  


The man punched him again, "You're lying."  


Blood dripped out of Geralt's nose, and he rolled his head back to look up into the man's eyes, "Think about it, the killings started happening again, but this time without a pattern. If it was the same monster as before, it changed it's feeding habits. That doesn't happen, believe me." Geralt said, "You know what I'm saying is the truth. Just tell me where you have Jaskier, and I'll leave without a fight"

The man tipped his head back and let out a breathy laugh, tears now streaming down his face,  


"You're here for your bard, Witcher? I'll tell you what happened to him."  


His captor bent down till he was eye-level with Geralt, a manic smile overtaking his features, "I was at the tavern, I had been researching about you for years so I recognised him as soon as he walked in. He was singing all of his songs about you, but I knew the look on his face. Whatever you did to him must have been awful."  


Geralt growled low in his throat, a warning, but the man just laughed again, "I told him some pretty lie about my dying daughter who just loved his music, and he agreed to come and play for her. I lead him into the woods, and he was so kind I almost had second thoughts. But then I remembered that he had been gallivanting around with you for years without remorse for any of the awful things you've done. When we stopped, he put up quite a fight. Perhaps you'd be impressed."  


Geralt struggled against the assassin's unrelenting grip, "What did you do to him?"  


The man held up the knife from the table to the light, and smiled, "I sat him right where you are, and ripped him apart bit by bit. First his body, and then his mind. I can still recall the moment he stopped begging for you to save him."  


Geralt could feel his body tensing, his muscles contracting reflexively, "Where is he?" he seethed, letting the venom drip from his voice.  


"Oh Geralt, didn't you know?" the man turned to him, something dangerous glinting in his eyes, "Jaskier's dead. He has been for weeks" 

The Witcher's mind went blank, and he lunged for the man.


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt defends himself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!TWs below!!!  
> Here's another chapter. I'm probably not going to be able to update for at least a few days because I am doing mock exams next week for my A levels so here is an early chapter as an apology. This one was quite difficult for me because I'm not used to writing such long fight sequences, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! - achilles
> 
> !!!TWs!!!  
> Fight sequence  
> Moderate description of blood and injuries  
> Minor character death  
> Mention of torture.

Within seconds, Geralt had the man up against the table, his hands wrapped firmly around his throat. The man's eyes widened slightly in surprise, before he smirked, and swiped his knife across Geralt's face. Geralt faltered the smallest amount, but it gave the man enough time to kick him off with his legs and duck to the side. Geralt recovered quickly and reared up again, ready to launch into another attack, only to find that the assassin was beside him, watching him with steady eyes. One of their blades was pointed directly at his heart, the tip only a hair's width away from piercing the armour. Geralt clenched his jaw and pulled himself up to full height, raising his chin in defiance. The assassin narrowed their eyes, pressing the dagger gently through one of the gaps in his armour, and he hissed in pain as it began to slice through the skin beneath.

"No!" the man said, hurriedly. He held his hand up and the assassin halted, the blade stopping its trail across Geralt's chest,  
"This," he continued, a hint of annoyance in his voice, "is not how it is supposed to go."  


The assassin tilted his head slightly in confusion, but moved the dagger away, although he still kept it raised in a defensive stance. The man nodded once, and he walked to where Geralt's swords were laying on the floor, abandoned. He kneeled, examining them both for a moment before taking the steel one by the handle. Geralt snarled at him as the man held it out with one hand as if testing the balance.  


"You Witchers do know how to make good weapons," he said, nodding appreciatively as the sword settled perfectly vertical across his open palm, "I was a blacksmith, you know, back in Breza. When you arrived, I was so interested in your swords, what it could be that made them so unique. I had wondered if they were enchanted, but I guess they're just metal like everything else."

He strode back over to where Geralt was stood, still holding the sword. He gestured to the assassin, who stepped out of the way, letting the man take their place. He angled the sword towards him, and Geralt sucked in a breath.  


"I've always loved fighting with swords," he said. He spun the blade around so that he was offering the handle to Geralt, who eyed the weapon suspiciously,  


"What game are you fucking playing?" he said.  


The man broke out into a grin, "What game am I playing?" he said, laughing, "Why did you think I wanted to get you here? To taunt you? Don't be stupid."  


Geralt's ears honed in on the man's heartbeat, "Jaskier isn't dead?"  


"Oh no, that was the truth." he sneered and promptly took a half-step back as though he expected Geralt to jump at him again, looking surprised when Geralt just smiled in response.  


"So you want to fight? Do you think you can win? Or are you going to pit your little pet on me?"  


The man's jaw clenched, "No, " he turned to look pointedly at the assassin, "Don't get involved. You already know what to do"  


The assassin nodded, and the man shifted his attention back to Geralt, He held the sword out to Geralt again, "Shall we?"

* * *

As soon as they had started to fight, stood opposite each-other a few yards away from the edge of the ravine, Geralt knew that it would be over quickly. The man had good technique, but he had no practice against a real opponent. Geralt had the advantage over him of both size and skill. Every attack the man launched at him, Geralt parried with ease, and he could see that his opponent was tiring quickly.  


"You don't have to do this." he urged, as he dodged out the way of another blow, "Just tell me where Jaskier is"  


The man scoffed, "Are you stupid, Witcher?" He ran at Geralt, sword outstretched, "Did you miss the part where I told you your bard was dead?  


Geralt brought his sword up to meet his strike, "You should really learn how to lie better," he pushed the man off, "Your heartbeat gives everything away."  


The man laughed, "I'm not lying." and he swung his blade around, catching the top of Geralt's shoulder who hissed in pain. The man turned, a triumphant look in his eye, "You should have heard his screams"  


Geralt swallowed down the wave of anger that overtook him, "This is my last warning." he said, and the man shook his head, smiling. Geralt bared his teeth and hurtled towards him.

Geralt brought his sword down, again and again. The man jumped back each time to dodge it, grinning, each step bringing them closer and closer to the rift. Geralt swept his blade to the side, and the man stumbled, his feet slipping on the rocks at the edge. Geralt reached out, grasping his hand and pulling him back, but the man just snarled and lunged at him. Geralt ducked under his blow and pushed his sword into the man's stomach.

Silence took over the cave as the man gaped helplessly. His knees buckled and he fell backwards, until all that was stopping him from slipping off the edge and into the rift below was Geralt's hand bunched in his shirt. He coughed, and blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth and down the side of his face.  


"Where is Jaskier?" Geralt asked, twisting the sword deeper. The man gasped in pain, hands grasping desperately at the hilt of the sword which was pressed up against his skin. "Where the fuck is he?"  


The man looked blankly at Geralt for a beat, before his face split into a crazed smile, his red-stained teeth glistening in the firelight. A bought of laughter ripped its way out of his throat, an awful, wet gurgle which caused more blood to bubble up and drip from his lips.  


"I t-told you, he's dead," his nostrils flared, and his hands dropped to his sides, "you won't save him."  


Geralt twisted the sword again, "I know you're fucking lying." he spat, "Answer my question"  


The man moaned in pain, but still didn't respond, so Geralt pulled the man's face closer to his,  


"Was it worth it?" he asked, "Was it worth dying for?"  


He met the grey eyes in front of him to see defiance burning within them, "When it's for the right person, I-It's always worth dying for." the man trembled in his grip, "Y-you will come to understand that sooner rather than later".  


Geralt watched as the man's eyes flickered away to focus on something over his shoulder, "You should let me go now." he said, giving a weak smile at the Witcher's look of confusion, and abruptly pushed away from his grip.

He reeled backwards, clutching his stomach desperately as red seeped through his fingers, only making it a few steps until he hit the edge of the ravine. For a few long seconds, he hung there, swaying to and fro, his heartbeat becoming sluggish. Finally, he raised his head to stare at Geralt,  


"Behind you," he muttered, so quiet that Geralt almost missed it, before his eyes rolled back in his skull. Geralt reached out on instinct but he was too late, and his hand clasped around the air, mere inches away from the man as he careened into the rift. 

Geralt watched him fall helplessly, arm still outstretched before a sound tore his attention away. He turned, bringing his sword above his head, just in time to see the assassin launch themselves at him, daggers crossed.

* * *

Their blades met in a cacophonous strike, and Geralt faltered, painfully aware of how close to the edge he was. He pressed upwards, using all his strength to drive his opponent backwards. The assassin's grip on their daggers tightened, and they pushed against him as they resisted.  


"Your employer is dead," Geralt growled, feet beginning to slip on the stone "Why are you still fighting me?"  


The assassin hissed and bore down upon him harder. Geralt pulled his sword away, the scrape of metal making him wince, and rolled to the side. The assassin stumbled forwards at the loss of resistance, but quickly regained their composure, and turned to Geralt. He twirled his daggers in his hands and held them out in front of him, settling back onto his haunches.

Geralt brought himself back to his feet, and circled the assassin, putting as much distance between himself and the ravine as possible. The assassin followed him, eyes squinted as he assessed his every move.  


"You can leave," he continued, "There is nothing for you here."  


The assassin did not respond, and Geralt continued to move inwards towards the fire, all the while facing his opponent.  
Geralt grit his teeth, "Why the fuck are you still here?" he yelled, "Unless you are going to tell me where Jaskier is, I suggest you go?"  


The assassin's shoulders began to shake and a short, dark chuckle erupted from them. They eyed him, and Geralt heard their breath catch minutely before they hurled themselves forward.

Geralt bought his sword across his chest seconds before they reached him. Each strike the assassin launched at him, he deflected, the only sounds in the cave those of their weapons clashing. He felt himself being backed up closer and closer to the fire, it's heat beginning to lick uncomfortably up his spine. He ducked out of the way of the assassin's next blow and rolled to the side, reachign up and grasping the vial that Yennefer had given him. He threw it to the floor and could hear the glass smash, but he didn't have time to look at it before the assassin was on him again.

He sliced his blade upwards, aiming for his opponent's head. They swiftly evaded it, but their daggers hooked themselves on the underside of his sword, forcing their arms up above their head. Geralt bought a knee up into their stomach, and they keeled over, dropping to the ground. Geralt stalked over, sword raised above his head. Before he could throw down the killing blow, however, the assassin pushed his leg out in a circle, catching Geralt in the back of the knees and sending him hurtling to the ground. His head whacked against the stone, and his ears began to ring. He watched as the assassin stood up slowly, and began to make his way over to him. He tried to crawl away, but the assassin pressed his foot down into his spine, pushing him back into the floor. 

The assassin reached down and grabbed a handful of his hair, using it to drag Geralt up to his knees. He struggled in vain at first before eventually going limp. They were dangerously close to the fire, and Geralt could feel the heat beginning to prickle his skin. The smoke lodged itself in his chest and clouded his eyes, and for a moment Geralt floundered blindly. The assassin used their other hand to grip Geralt's hand around his sword and lifted it up, twisting it until Geralt was holding his own sword to his neck, a horrible mimic of their first encounter.  


"What is it with you and trying to slit my throat?" he growled, and the assassin jerked his head back again in retaliation.  


Geralt reached upwards with his free hand and groped around desperately for anything to grab onto, pushing himself away from the blade. His hands found the assassin's armour, and he pulled. They grunted and pulled his hair, so hard that Geralt could have sworn he felt some of it give way. He wheezed in pain, and the blade only pressed closer to his jugular. 

He scrabbled desperately above him. His hand whacked against the assassin's neck, and Geralt grit his teeth in concentration as he reached further up towards their face. Something soft hit the back of his hand, and he gripped it as hard as he could, using his body weight to pull down on it. The assassin resisted, but Geralt did not relent, and the sound of tearing fabric hit his ears. The assassin growled, letting go of both his hair and his sword for a split-second, and Geralt mustered all of his remaining strength to strike out behind him with his elbow. His opponent stumbled backwards, and Geralt span, slicing his weapon at them. They let out an unearthly screech and fell to their knees.

Geralt scrambled away from the flames towards the table, using it to pull himself up. He blinked a few times, letting the smoke clear from his eyes, and looked down at his clenched fist at what he had pulled off the assassin. It was a strip of fabric, which he instantly recognised to be the mask that they had been wearing, and one side was covered in glowing runes. Geralt snapped his head up to look at the assassin.

They were on their knees, one hand clutched over a large gash in their arm, and Geralt could hear them gasping for breath. Their head hung down and their hood had slipped backwards off their head, allowing dark hair to fall over their face. Geralt inched closer, and they tensed when they realised that they were being watched. Slowly, they raised themselves to their feet, keeping their head bowed.

They fumbled at something at their side, and Geralt saw that they still clutched one of their daggers. Without thinking, he barrelled towards them, pushing them to the ground and grabbing the blade out of their grip, throwing it out of reach. He turned back towards them, breath catching in his throat. The fire crackled next to him, but it did nothing to dispel the icy horror filling his veins as he stared down at the person beneath him.

Jaskier stared back at him, and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I did watch the winter soldier reveal scene before this, just to get the emotions going.


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt is faced with the truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!TWs below!!!  
> I wrote this as therapy after a maths exam :) I've removed the mind control tag because its not quite accurate- achilles
> 
> !!!TWS!!!  
> Blood and injury  
> Weapons  
> Mention of torture

"Jaskier?"  


"Hello, Geralt," he said simply, before surging upwards and headbutting him in the face. Geralt fell backwards with a grunt of pain and dumbfoundedly brought a hand up to cradle his bloodied nose, not taking his eyes off of Jaskier.  


"You're..." he said, trailing off, and Jaskier chuckled,  


"Quite." he began to stand, examining his arm, "Gods, that's deep."  


He glanced at Geralt and raised an inquisitive eyebrow, "Would you have done it if you knew who it was?"  


Geralt felt as though his limbs were leaden with bricks, all of his Witcher training leaving him as he stared up at his friend,  


"Jaskier?" he asked again, as though it was some awful dream and that questioning it would be enough to break the illusion.

Jaskier sighed dramatically, reached down, and hauled Geralt up by the collar with one hand.  


"I'm afraid Jaskier isn't home at the moment," he sneered, and threw him down onto the stool which was still placed by the fire, "Why don't you come back later?" Geralt let himself fall onto the chair, offering no resistance.  


"I should thank you," he continued, walking over to where his mask had been dropped in the fight and picked it up, "for taking this off."  


He inspected it, hands stretching the fabric out as he held it up to the light. The runes shivered and glowed, and Not-Jaskier tutted,  


"Pesky silencing spells. The bastard wanted to keep it a surprise. Of course, he had to go and get himself killed before he could even watch the final act."  


"Final act?" Geralt repeated mindlessly, before he shook himself out of his trance. He narrowed his eyes at Not-Jaskier and bared his teeth, "Where is he?"  


"You pushed him into the ravine not ten minutes ago? I've heard a lot about Witchers, but I didn't know that your memory was comparable to that of a goldfish."  


"Stop playing games, you know who I'm talking about."  


Not-Jaskier stared at him a moment, nonplussed, before he raised his eyebrows in realisation, "You're asking where your bard is?"  


"Of course," he growled, and Not-Jaskier laughed in disbelief,  


"Really?" he said, rolling those awful red eyes, "From sharing a brain with your friend, I knew that you weren't the quickest, but seriously? Witchers are forgetful and stupid, I never would have guessed"  


He snorted at Geralt's warning growl, "This," he said, gesturing to himself, "is him. Or at least it's his body."  


Geralt scented the air, but all he could smell was Chaos, "What are you?" 

Not-Jaskier smirked, but didn't answer, and instead sidled over to where Geralt's steel sword lay abandoned by the fire. He plucked it up and held it out, looking down the fuller at him. Geralt let his eyes slide to where his silver sword lay to the right of him.  


"So what, you're highjacking him?" he asked, watching as the other man stood and began to spin the sword around him with a grace that Jaskier could never possess.  


"Hmm?" Not-Jaskier stopped for a second, "Yes, something like that."  


"I don't suppose you're going to get out anytime soon?"  


"Maybe if you asked nicely," he said, peering over his shoulder at Geralt with a glint of humour in his eyes.  
He looked so much like Jaskier at that moment that Geralt could almost believe it was, but there was something inherently about the way he held himself. He was too stiff, too precise, nothing like the ease that Jaskier displayed in his own skin. A contentment which Geralt had always been jealous of.  


"However," Not-Jaskier continued, "I sense you aren't one to indulge in such niceties."  


"Not particularly"  


"But you would for him?"  


Geralt remained silent, and the other man gave him an amused look.

Not-Jaskier let the arm holding the sword drop to his side and made his way back over to Geralt,  
"Don't waste your breath. Even if you got down on your knees and begged I wouldn't give him up. Although, I would pay to watch such a thing."  


He fell into a crouch, gazing up at Geralt, "You see, I made a deal with the man you so graciously dropped off a cliff. I follow his orders until you die, and in return, I get to parade around wearing whats-his-name..."  


"Jaskier" Geralt interrupted roughly,  


"Right, my apologies." his lip curled upward, " _Jaskier_ for as long as I like."  


"You made a deal with the man? He's dead, the deal's off"  


Not-Jaskier let out a laugh, standing once more and circling the chair, "Unfortunately for you, that's not how it works. The deals that my kind make are..." he paused, pondering his next words, "infused with Destiny, the requirements are set into motion the moment the contract is signed. Nobody has to be around to see the terms fulfilled for it to be so."  


"Your riddles don't work on me," Geralt said, "Speak plainly."  


Not-Jaskier huffed, "What I'm trying to say, Witcher," he said, and Geralt felt his muscles tense and the hairs on his neck stand on end, "is that the terms still stand."  


He locked eyes with Geralt for a split-second, before he brought his sword above his head.

Geralt dove off the chair to the side. He landed with a thump onto the stone, his injured shoulder screaming at him. From behind him came the sound of splintering wood, and Not-Jaskier's answering curse. He began to crawl towards the silver sword. Not-Jaskier hissed, and began to stalk after him,  


"What are you going to do, Geralt?" he taunted, his voice carrying a tone that he had never heard from Jaskier's mouth, "Kill me? Running me through with a sword might do the job, but what of poor little Jaskier?"  


He quickly advanced on Geralt, planting one foot on either side of his back and grabbing his hair. Geralt's fingers brushed the hilt of the silver sword. Not-Jaskier leant down, so close that Geralt could feel the warmth of his breath hit the back of his neck,  


"You know, I even feel slightly bad." he said, "Your bard was very fond of you."  


"Fuck you," Geralt snarled, and Not-Jaskier threw his face down onto the stone. He heard a crack as his nose made impact and he groaned as he was abruptly pulled up again. Not-Jaskier's hand curled around his throat, forcing him to turn his head and meet his eyes.  


"His wails were very distinctive, I've never heard any quite like them. Though I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised. He spent years singing your name, it only seems right that his screams were just as melodious."  


Geralt choked back a sob, and his head was forced down again, and again until his vision swam and his ears rung. Vaguely, as if in a dream, the thought that his skull had most likely cracked crossed his mind, and he almost laughed at the hysterical nature of the situation he was in. Geralt of Rivia, broken by his bard.

The sound of Not-Jaskier's voice in his ear brought him back to reality.  


"I must say, Geralt," he said, his hand moving away from his neck, "it has been lovely playing this game with you."  


Geralt grit his teeth, and half-blind he stretched his arm as far as he could towards the flash of silver in front of him.  


"I'm afraid, however, that I have other things to attend to. I haven't had a corporeal form in so long, I almost forgot how thrilling it is."  


Blood dripped from Geralt's nose, and his eyes threatened to roll back into his head. From above him came the distinctive whoosh of a blade being flung down, and his fingers closed around the handle of the sword. He summoned all of the fight left in his bones, and he flipped onto his back.

The blades crossed just inches above his head, and Geralt grunted as his elbows almost buckled underneath the force. Not-Jaskier grinned and bought his blade up against the edge of Geralt's, emitting a sharp, ringing sound that pierced through his hazy mind. He watched as Not-Jaskier grabbed the hilt of his sword with both of his hands, and drove them downwards towards his face. Geralt forced himself to roll away seconds before it could strike him, and used his body mass to pull himself to his feet. Nausea rolling in his stomach as the world span around him.

Not-Jaskier rose opposite him, brandishing his sword again, and Geralt felt himself falter. He was outmatched, he realised. He was still reeling from Jaskier's reveal, and his head was pounding rhythmically from the fracture. That alone was not fatal for a Witcher normally, but whatever was possessing Jaskier made him strong, and it would take nothing more than a slight push and Geralt would be on his knees. Even if he did fight back, if he did best him, Geralt knew that meant nothing. Not-Jaskier was right; the only way to kill him was to also kill Jaskier. 

"Please," he begged, eyes searching the other man's face for any hint of recognition, "Jaskier, I know you're still in there."  


The other man threw his head back and practically howled with laughter. Geralt suppressed a shudder at the unnatural ring it possessed, and pressed on, 

"You have to fight it. You have to try."  


"Stupid Witcher, the bard is gone." he said, mania glinting in his eyes, "He must have been important, though. It seems Witchers do beg after all."  


Geralt stumbled backwards, unconsciousness advancing on him quickly, He knew there was nowhere he could go.

He felt his back hit the wall of the cavern, and a jolt of white-hot pain flashed up his spine and into the base of his skull. Black spots began to dance across his eyesight, and he swallowed against the bile which rose in his throat. He watched Jaskier's approaching form, at the red eyes and the dark armour, and visions of blue irises and chamomile soap echoed through his mind.  


"Jaskier, listen to me, I'm not going to fight you," Geralt's voice broke, "I can't."  


He tugged in a breath, letting his head fell back against the stone, and the sword slipped out of his grip. It clattered loudly against the floor. Not-Jaskier stopped in surprise, looking between Geralt and the dropped sword. He raising his eyebrows first in surprise and then in delight, and grinned, a horrible twisted thing that looked so out of place on Jaskier's mellow features. Geralt watched with resignation as he closed in.

Crimson eyes filled his vision, and Geralt felt the press of the sword's tip against the armour over his abdomen. He reached up and placed a hand at the conjuncture of Jaskier's neck and shoulder, pressing his palm into the warmth there and feeling the steady thrum of his pulse against his thumb. He smiled softly,  


"Jaskier, if you can hear me, it's okay. It's okay," his hand came up to cup Jaskier's cheek, and the other man hissed at the contact. Geralt leant forward anyway, pressing his forehead against Jaskier's, and let his eyes slip shut. 

"It's alright, Jask, " he murmured, "it's not your fault. None of it was. Just know that I'm sorry, for the mountain, for everything before, for everything since." The sword began to push into his stomach, and he gasped in pain, "I'm sorry I didn't find you. I'm sorry I didn't get to you in time."  


Through his rapidly clouding mind, Geralt heard the other man growl under his breath and felt him move in. He braced himself in anticipation.

"Geralt!"  


The sound of his name being shrieked slashed through the haze. He opened his eyes just in time to see the cavern fill with a flare of luminous light, and Not-Jaskier being flung backwards. His eyes sluggishly slipped to the side to see Yennefer stood in the archway to the cave, arms outstretched and her face contorted.  


"Yenn..." he ground out, and the world tipped sideways. His legs buckled, and he was pulled into unconsciousness.

* * *

He awoke to Yennefer pouring Swallow down his throat. Geralt surged upwards, wrapping his hand around her wrist, halting her movements. She let out a sound of protest and slapped him away, and he sunk back down to where he was propped up against the wall.  


"Stop that, Geralt. You've got a nasty head wound," she said, grabbing his chin. Geralt let her tilt his head back once more and sighed when the cool potion slid down his throat, already feeling it's effects taking hold. She shook her head,  


"You're lucky I gave you that beacon spell. If I hadn't have come, your bard would have had you skewered on your own steel and roasting over the fire by now"  


"My..." Geralt murmured before his sluggish mind caught up with him, and he bolted upright again,  


"Yennefer, it's Jaskier. The assassin is Jaskier." 

Yennefer rolled her eyes, "Yes, I know that already, you idiot. I came into the cave to find him pressing you against the wall. I thought I was interrupting something until I saw he was well on his way to disembowelling you."  


He winced, "Where is he?"  


Yennefer gestured with her head to the side of her. He peered over her shoulder to see Jaskier slumped near the fire, his legs outstretched and his hands bound to one of the table legs. He was gagged, but his eyes danced with amusement when they caught Geralt's.  


"You know it's not him, right?" Yennefer said, her voice uncharacteristically gentle, and Geralt nodded,  


"He stinks of Chaos. Whatever's possessing him wouldn't tell me what it was, only that it made deals of Destiny. I've never come across such a thing."  


Yennefer hummed thoughtfully, "Neither have I. I'll have to go back to the cabin and take a look there. Maybe there's something in my old books about what it is."

At the mention of the cabin, Geralt glanced about the cave,  


"Where's Ciri?" he asked frantically, and Yennefer pushed him back down by the shoulder,  


"Relax, Geralt, I portalled her up to Kaer Morhan before I came. It's why I took so long to get here. Stop moving about, you're going to slow down the healing process."  


"Is she alright?"  


"Yes, she's fine. Even if I left her on her own, that child has more power in her fingernail than we could ever hope to possess. I'm sure that she could handle herself for a little while."  


Geralt stared at her for a second before he yielded, knowing that what Yennefer said was the truth. They sat in silence for a few moments longer, only the crackle of the flames filling the air. 

"What are you going to do? he asked her eventually, and she pressed her lips together in thought,  


"I can't portal back to the cabin yet. I need time to recharge, and even then I can probably only transport myself safely."  


"You should take Roach and head up to Dorian. You could get a room at an inn there, recuperate."  


"Geralt," Yennefer started, but he cut her off,  


"You would be doing me a favour, Roach needs food and water herself." he said, "Please." Yennefer bit her lip and nodded,  


"Okay. Will you be alright here? I put a weakening spell on Jaskier, but he's been saying some...things."  


"Is that's why you gagged him?" Geralt asked, and she smiled sheepishly. Geralt laughed softly, "I'm sure I'll manage. Go. Come back once you find out what's wrong with him"

Yennefer stood, bent down and pressed a light kiss to his forehead.  


"Be safe. Don't do anything stupid." she said and swept out of the cave.


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A talk in the cave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!TWs below!!!  
> Sorry this took so long to get out. Mocks absolutely kicked my ass. This one is longer as an apology. Also I figured out how to change the formatting so it looks better now (I hope). Hope you enjoy :) - achilles
> 
> !!!TWs!!!  
> Mentions of blood and injury  
> Brief non-graphic mentions of a school being burned down  
> Mentions of torture

Yennefer's departure from the cavern had left an uncomfortable silence in her wake that Geralt couldn't seem to shake. He could feel Not-Jaskier's eyes burning into the side of his face, but he refused to humour him by gazing back. He studied the archway opposite to him for a while, mapping the cracks in the stone, trying to resist the urge to shout at the other man to just stop fucking staring at him. Eventually, the pull of the eyes on him faded away, and Geralt let his head fall back onto the wall behind him. He slipped into meditation easily, lulled by the familiar sting of Swallow taking effect, its warmth running through his veins and stitching the many cuts which littered his body back together. The pounding in his head grew less and less, and eventually, it had subsided enough for him to pry open his eyes.

After much deliberation, Geralt allowed himself to glance across the cave to where Not-Jaskier was still sat, slouched against the table leg. He seemed to have gotten bored with watching Geralt's resolutely unresponsive form and had instead turned his attention to the fire. He possessed an eerie tranquillity, one which Geralt had never seen Jaskier once embody in all of their years travelling together. The bard was usually seemingly unable to sit still, always singing or strumming his lute, and if Geralt had reached the end of his tether after long days on the road and forced him to be quiet for once, he resorted to tapping his feet and humming. 

Then there was the incessant chatter. To himself, to Roach, and, much to his annoyance, to Geralt. It was always about completely mundane things, stuff that Geralt wouldn't know and wouldn't care to know; who was marrying who in the different royal families, who had disgraced themselves at the last banquet, what the other more well-known troubadours of the Continent were composing now. 

Geralt thought it was all trivial, and had told Jaskier as much one night by the fire. It was after he had killed a cockatrice for a noble who's horses it had been eating, and their brief stay in the village had supplied Geralt with a full purse of coin, and Jaskier with an arsenal of rumours about to who the Lady was going to be wed. While Geralt struggled to understand the interest, Jaskier basked in it as if it were the gift of the gods themselves. 

In response to Geralt's statement, he had let out a gasp and clutched his chest in half-genuine horror, telling him that he was an idiot for thinking that the world could continue without the drama of the aristocracy. Geralt just shook his head in amusement as Jaskier got up and grabbed his lute, muttering about how the Lady's love triangle would make his 'greatest song yet, far more popular than Toss a Coin was. Just you wait, Witcher.'

It wasn't, of course. Despite his talk, Jaskier wrote not a tragic love ballad about the jealous Lords vying for the Lady's attention, but instead an epic tale of the heroic Witcher who had not only saved the day, but had captured the Lady's heart in the process, only for the White Wolf to turn down her promise of a life of filled with riches to continue his quest across the Continent to vanquish all evil. 

This, of course, was bullshit. He had barely even talked to the noble, getting most of his information about the cockatrice's whereabouts from the staff, and even when he did manage to get an audience with her, she was far too busy fawning over Jaskier than himself. 

Geralt had pointed this out as they rode out of the town, and Jaskier had stopped dead in his tracks and turned to Geralt from where he was stood in front of Roach. He levelled him with a look of confusion before he promptly erupted into peals of laughter,

"Oh, my dear, if you are implying that I should have taken up her affections and sought her hand, I believe you have severely misunderstood my intentions for travelling with you."

Geralt shook his head, "You do it for the coin, right?" Jaskier stopped laughing abruptly, and Geralt continued, his voice softer, "Her rings were worth more than you could ever hope to earn with me in a year."

"Geralt, I left behind one branch of familial wealth to travel with you and I've been running from it ever since." Jaskier looked at him sincerely, and Geralt felt something tug deep within his chest. He swallowed it down, "I stay with you, I chose _you_ , because you're my best friend."

Geralt didn't know how to respond to that, so instead, he just urged Roach on, muttering, "Your song's still bullshit," as he passed Jaskier.

Jaskier smiled, "Yes, yes, I know," and proceeded to pester him about the tune to which his falsehoods sounded better.

The person sat in front of Geralt now seemed to be a void of the restlessness that was so characteristically Jaskier, the fumbling replaced with silence. He sat there, unmoving, giving no indication that he was even alive. A wave of discomfort overtook Geralt and he forced himself to look away from his face, his eyes trailing down his profile to the top of his arm.

The armour there had been slashed open, revealing the cut for which Geralt had been responsible. It was still bleeding, albeit slower than before, and was staining the fabric an even darker stain of red. Geralt could not see it clearly through the flickering light of the campfire, but he could tell it was probably a few inches long and, from the way that Not-Jaskier had shrieked when it had been inflicted, quite deep. Geralt sucked in a breath, desperately trying to quell the bright flare of anger which sparked in his chest, and Not-Jaskier's earlier question echoed through his mind,

_Would you have done it if you knew who it was?_

Geralt knew the answer. He had always known it, right from the day they met in the tavern in Posada. The moment he forced himself to drop his sword, practically offering himself up to Not-Jaskier, only further confirmed it, and Geralt hated himself. Everything that Vesemir had taught him, all he knew about the Witcher's code, everything he had learnt about staying alive; it was all for nought because of one human. 

He briefly wondered if he would have gone through with it if it really were Jaskier who wanted him dead, not just some entity parading around as him, but he feared he knew the answer to that too.

He could not think about that now. The man sat in front of him was not Jaskier, it was something else, something far more dangerous, and he needed to remain impassive if was ever going to have a chance at besting it. His eyes wandered from the down Not-Jaskier's body, assessing for any areas of weakness, but apart from the cut on his arm, there was nothing more than a few small scrapes. 

Eventually, his gaze landed on Not-Jaskier's hands, which were bound sightly to the side of him. The rope which had been looped tightly around them seemed to glow slightly with Yennefer's weakening spell, and Geralt watched as the fibres twisted around one another as if they were alive. The skin beneath the bindings was a harsh red, rubbed raw presumably a failed escape attempt by Not-Jaskier. 

A cough startled him out of his thoughts.

Geralt looked up to see Not-Jaskier staring at him intently, his head cocked slightly to the side, and he could tell he was grinning at him from beneath the gag. For a moment, Geralt considered closing his eyes and ignoring him until Yennefer returned. Exhaustion was still weighing heavily on his mind and limbs, but he didn't know how long she would be gone, and he knew that if there was a chance he could get through to Jaskier, he had to take it. 

Sighing, Geralt heaved himself up, relieved that he wasn't immediately consumed by vertigo. The red eyes followed him as he knelt and searched through his pouch which Yennefer had thrown down beside him in her hurry to administer Swallow. His hands clasped around the small pot of healing salve, and he momentarily considered whether what he was about to do was a stupid idea, before remembering who he was doing it for.

He made his way over to the campfire, watching as glee flitted across Not-Jaskier's expression. Geralt sank to his knees opposite him, the salve held out between them as a sort of peace offering. The other man looked down at the tiny pot and back up to Geralt a few times before he huffed and turned his face away. Geralt nodded and pulled himself over so that he was facing Not-Jaskier's arm. He twisted off the cap and dipped his fingers into the salve, before reaching forward and carefully smearing it over the cut. Not-Jaskier hissed and tensed, but Geralt continued anyway, praying to whatever gods were listening that Yennefer's magic held. 

It was quiet as Geralt worked. He finished covering the wound in the salve, and when he realised that he had no bandages, he ripped the pouch and bound it tightly around his bicep. Eventually, he looked up at Not-Jaskier, who was still staring resolutely at the fire, before he spoke,

"Jaskier, are you there?" he said. 

The other man let out a snort, his eyes flickering down to meet Geralt's, and his eyebrows raised in mirth. Geralt felt his jaw clench with barely suppressed anger, his hand clenching and unclenching in an attempt to not punch the man in front of him. He tried again, 

"If you're in there, can you talk to me? Jas, can you let me know if you can hear me?." 

There was no response. Nothing but silence hung between them for what felt like an eternity. Not-Jaskier didn't once divert his gaze from where it was boring into the top of Geralt's head. Geralt was just about to give up and head back towards his place by the cavern wall when the pungent smell of fresh blood pervaded the air. He snapped his head up, scanning over Jaskier's body to see if anything had changed, if he had been hurt in any way. His eyes settled on the gag and focussed on where red had begun to soak through the material on the underside. 

Without thinking, he reached forward and untied the gag, watching in horror as it came away bloody. A string of spit stretched to Jaskier's mouth, where a line of perfectly formed teeth marks littered the bottom lip. Blood dribbled down his chin, unblocked by the gag, and dripped loudly onto the leather of his armour. Geralt surged to his feet, and Not-Jaskier looked triumphantly between the Geralt and the material in his hand, before his lip darted out to wipe away the blood. 

"You're a bastard," Geralt said, and Not-Jaskier broke out into a blood-stained grin,

"Oh come on, I just want to talk," he said, "I absolutely cannot stand sitting here while you grovel away about Jaskier, although I do appreciate you patching me up." His lip quirked upwards and Geralt scowled, 

"I didn't do it for you." 

"Of course, of course, you did it for dear little Jaskier, " he looked at Geralt through his lashes, "but you helped me nonetheless".

He was being baited, Geralt knew, so he didn't answer. Instead, he stepped behind him and reached to retie the gag around his mouth. Not-Jaskier leaned away from his touch, 

"Wait, wait!" he said hurriedly, and Geralt stopped, "Don't you want to know what happened to him?"

He was gazing up at him with such sincerity that Geralt automatically let his hands fall to his sides. Not-Jaskier watched them go before he returned his gaze to Geralt's and tilted his head in a silent question.

"You'll lie." Geralt said,

"Maybe," Not-Jaskier shrugged, "but are you willing to take that chance?"

Geralt had always known what his answer would be.

* * *

After Geralt had settled back onto his knees beside him, Not-Jaskier studied him for a while out of the corner of his eye, something predatory glinting deep within them. Geralt watched as the ropes around his wrists tightened minutely, and Not-Jaskier smirked,

"Your sorceress is very clever," he said, "Yennefer, is it?" Geralt looked at him in shock, and he rolled his eyes, "I'm inside Jaskier's head, everything he knows, I know. Nifty little trick, right?"

"What are you?" Geralt growled, 

"Haven't I already told you? You know, I was joking earlier about you having a bad memory, but now I'm actually starting to think I was right."

"You said you'd tell me." 

"I said I would tell you what happened to Jaskier." Not-Jaskier smirked, "That's the first rule of dealing with my kind. Be specific."

"You make deals. Are you a Djinn?"

"Do I look like a Djinn to you?" he said.

Geralt knew that he was right, that Djinn didn't possess people, but he wasn't about to admit that. Instead, he bared his teeth, "Perhaps you're some sort of mutant." he said. 

"And you would know all about that wouldn't you, Witcher?" 

Geralt's snarled and Not Jaskier smiled in response, "It seems to me" he said, "that you and I are much the same." He leant back against the table and crossing his legs. Geralt didn't respond, and Not-Jaskier closed his eyes, "We are both just people searching for a meaning in the world, the only difference is at least I have the guts to admit that perhaps I'm not the hero of this story."

Geralt felt his lip twitch, "Don't fool yourself. We are nothing alike." 

"Really?" Not Jaskier raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, "Truly, you could have had me fooled, Geralt. Do you destroy _everything _you love?"__

__Geralt jerked his head, caught off guard by the question, "What?"_ _

__"Oh, you know, it's been a right laugh up in little Jaskier's head. You two sure do share a lot of stories with each other."_ _

__"Don't," Geralt ground out, and Not-Jaskier ran his tongue over his lips in delight._ _

__"Maybe you didn't mean to tell Jaskier all about your little escapades around the Continent, but stories can be so enticing when you spend long nights by the fire. It's understandable that you let some things slip."_ _

__Not-Jaskier grinned, "And there are so many stories about you in this bard's mind. Let me think... what was it again? The name of the girl?" he cocked his head, eyes rolling upwards until all Geralt could see were the white, slightly bloodshot sclera. Not-Jaskier stayed like that for a moment, before his eyes flicked downwards again and he grinned, "Renfri."_ _

__Geralt clenched his hands, sitting up straighter, "I said don't."_ _

__"Ah, yes, Renfri. Jaskier has a lot of thoughts about her, so many that one might make the mistake he knew her himself. But that was long before he started travelling with you, wasn't it? Maybe he was just wondering how someone he thought he knew could murder so senselessly."_ _

__Geralt took a deep breath, willing himself to remain calm. "If you're in his head, then surely you know that he understood what he was getting into the moment he talked to me in Posada." he ground out, desperate to gain control of the situation._ _

__"Hmm, perhaps. Or maybe he just wanted to pretend that you weren't truly the monster everyone thought you to be. A lot of good that did him. Tell me Geralt, did you mean to destroy him too?"_ _

__"Shut up"_ _

__"The words you said to him on the mountain killed him, I've never seen anyone in so much pain. Of course, that was after my former employer had done his little tricks on him, but still, you should be proud. You were the one who laid the foundations."_ _

__"If you don't stop talking..." Geralt started, but Not-Jaskier cut him off,_ _

__"No, you wanted to know what happened to him, so here it is. When I was summoned, it was oh-so-easy to slip into his mind. I mean, most people at least put up a little bit of a fight, but not Jaskier. No, he was gone well before I got here."_ _

__A terrible feeling curled in Geralt's stomach as Not-Jaskier continued, "That's no fun, you see. I had spent years in limbo, waiting, and I wasn't going to have my first possession back to be so....boring. So, I went and burned a village on my way to come and see you. It was only when I set light to the school did Jaskier finally re-emerge." he laughed, "You should have heard him beg for their lives."_ _

__Geralt seethed, "He stayed awake after that, I could feel his terror that I would do something just as bad again. He didn't know where we were going, but he never asked. He thought about you a lot though. It was pitiful really, but he still hoped you were okay even after everything you had put him through._ _

__"Of course, when he finally realised what I was contracted to do he fought back. It was quite noble, actually, almost took control of me a few times during our meeting in Flotsam. But the moment I held his dagger above your heart, he disappeared," Not-Jaskier shrugged "I haven't felt his presence since."_ _

__Geralt couldn't move. The horrible thing in his stomach had made its way up his throat and wrapped itself around his neck. Distantly, he could feel something running down his cheeks. Suddenly, something gave way, and he surged upwards, pointing his finger at Not-Jaskier, "You're lying."_ _

__Not-Jaskier stared at up him with an indistinguishable look in his eyes, "No, Geralt, I'm not." he grinned, "By the gods, you truly believed you were the hero, that you could save him, didn't you?"_ _

__"Why are you telling me this?" Geralt was half-begging now._ _

__"Because, dear Witcher, I want to make a deal."_ _


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer rides to Dorian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!TWs below!!!  
> Sorry that this took me so long. I'm so busy right now getting stuff done for my a levels so uploads with probably be only once a week from now on :( Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter, just a little change in perspective to keep the story moving. - achilles
> 
> !!!TWs!!!  
> very brief mentions of alcohol

By the time that Yennefer finally emerged from the cave, the sun was just setting and was only a tiny slither of light visible above the treeline. The sky was laced with veins of red and gold, and light speckled through the leaves of the forest and dappled around her feet. As she stepped into the clearing which the mouth of the cave opened into, she bought her arm up to shield her eyes from the brightness. She had spent hours in the cave between restraining Jaskier (or whatever the fuck was possessing him) and making sure that Geralt didn't die from head trauma, and so even the muted light of dusk was blinding to her.

Eventually, her vision adjusted, enough to allow her to glance around at her surroundings. Yennefer had teleported directly to Geralt in the cave, and now had no bearing on her location, other than that it was somewhere in the vicinity of Redwater and Dorian, and that Roach was somewhere nearby. After a moment of deliberation about her next steps, she hitched her skirt up and about her waist, tying it off to the side so that the floor-length material now fell just below her knees. Yennefer made her way across the clearing to one of the less steep sides of the ditch. There were a couple of stones at the bottom, which looked as if they had recently fallen, or most likely pushed by Geralt as he made his way down.

Slowly, she began to haul herself up, her teeth gritted in determination as her arms and legs found purchase on the jagged rocks. After a few minutes of solid climbing, she finally reached the top, and with one final push, she managed to haul herself up over the lip where the grass met the stone. She fell with a thump on her back, where she lay for a few moments, her aching limbs starfished gracelessly around her and her chest heaving. Closing her eyes, she focussed on her breathing and the thud of her own heartbeat, willing them to slow. 

After she could no longer feel the thump of her pulse in her chest, she let herself relax, body sinking into the grass, her ears straining to hear...

Yennefer sat bolt upright, icy unease seeping into her veins. She whipped her head around frantically, desperately searching the treetops but to no avail. There were no birds anywhere in sight, where there should be the summer song there was only a horrible, pervasive silence. Something dropped in her stomach, and she hauled herself to her feet.

She had only ever seen this phenomenon herself a few times, but she knew it from the whispered warnings which she had heard while at Aretuza, about magic which was strong enough to drive away any animal in its immediate vicinity.

With new-found urgency, Yennefer began to search the treeline for any sign of where Roach could be. Her eyes landed on a patch of squashed foliage a few feet from where she was standing. As she walked over, she saw it stretched through the forest, a clumsy path formed from Geralt's hurried steps as he had rushed to reach the cave. A stupid mistake for a Witcher, but for once it was useful. 

Yennefer followed the path through the forest, watching as it winded left and right seemingly sporadically until she happened upon the road. Roach was tied to a tree on the opposite side of the track, chewing on a patch of clovers. Her head jerked up as Yennefer pushed through the tree-line, and whinnied when she approached, tugging slightly on the branch where her reigns were looped. 

"Shh," Yennefer said, holding out her hand, "it's just me, Roach. It's just Yennefer."

Roach angled her snout away from her for a few moments, appraising the hand in front of her with a look which could only be described as sceptical, before eventually snorting and dipping her head once more to eat the plants.

Taking this as an offer of a truce, Yennefer patted Roach's neck, half to soothe the horse and half to soothe herself.

"Okay, Roach, Geralt has instructed that I take you to Dorian with me."

Roach huffed, and Yennefer smirked,

"I know, I'm not happy about it either, but Jaskier...you know Jaskier? Annoying bard?" Yennefer brushed her fingers through the horse's mane, "He needs help, therefore Geralt needs help, therefore I need help." Roach raised her head to look at her and neighed softly, to which Yennefer smiled and nodded, understanding it to be the compromise it was. 

Roach had never been fond of her, even when Geralt visited the cabin. For what reason, Yennefer did not know; at first she thought it was the Chaos that Geralt said constantly surrounded her, but the horse was as much content with being in the care of Ciri, who was far more powerful than herself, as she was with Geralt. Maybe it was the lingering discontent for Yennefer and Geralt's less than stellar first meeting. If ten years ago, someone had told her that horses could hold grudges, she would have laughed in their face, but now she was not so sure.

She moved to the side of Roach and began to rearrange the saddle. Jaskier's lute was hanging off one side, and her stomach twisted uncomfortably as she saw the state it was in. She carefully unlooped it and held it up to the light to briefly inspect the damage. Her fingertips trailed the long scratch which trailed from the fretboard down the body and vowed to herself that once she had replenished her magic, she would spare a little to fix the instrument up. 

To save Geralt from the wrath of a bard with no instrument, that was all.

After pulling the lute over her own back, adjusting the unfamiliar weight and grimacing as she felt the strings dig uncomfortably into her back, she untied Roach and lead her into the centre of the road. She patted the horse once more,

"Alright, I'm going to climb on now. Please don't kick me off," she said, before tucking one foot into a stirrup and hauling herself over onto the saddle. Roach shifted back as she did so, and Yennefer gripped the reigns in anticipation of falling into the dirt, but it never came. She leant down, hand coming up to brush Roach's mane in thanks,

"Good girl," Yennefer settled onto the saddle and studied the road in front of her. There were hoof-prints in the dirt, stretching south to Redwater, where Yennefer assumed Geralt had come from, meaning that Dorian was further north up the road they were on. Yennefer turned Roach, taking one last look up at the birdless trees, and spurred Roach into a run.

* * *

The ride to Dorain was uneventful, with the passage of time only marked by the rhythmic clops of Roach's hooves and the thump of Jaskier's lute against Yennefer's back. At some point, they had left the forest, breaking through the last line of trees onto a stretch of rolling farmland. As they did so, Yennefer instantly felt the Chaos, which she hadn't even noticed was there slip away, leaving her feeling eerily weightless. 

She pulled Roach to a stop in the middle of the road and slipped off her back. She strode over to the point where the boundary of Chaos had ended, where the air seemed to ripple slightly, swirling with many different colours as the sunlight passed through it. Curious, Yennefer pushed her hand out into it and jerked away in surprise when she felt something crackle along her skin, a shock of pain travelling up her arm. 

Her stomach knotted again as her suspicions were confirmed; whatever happened in this forest, whatever happened to _Jaskier_ , had used a lot of magic, one which Yennefer could only assume was banned. Roach whinnied from behind her, and Yennefer half-turned towards her, eyes not leaving the swirling air,

"You can feel it too, can't you?" Yennefer said absentmindedly, before reaching out in front of her once again.

This time, she did not allow herself to recoil at the spark and watched as a small flash of light darted across her fingertips. It fizzled out on her little finger, leaving a blotch of red against her skin, and she rubbed at the spot with her thumb. As she did so, it bloomed a bright red and began to stretch outwards down to the first knuckle, a spider-web of broken blood vessels. Yennefer stared at it for a moment, before abruptly turning on her heel and marching back to Roach.

"We have to go," she said simply, more to herself than to the horse. 

In the distance, nestled just below the horizon, Yennefer could just make out the outline of a city, the windows of the many buildings beginning to illuminate one by one in the dying light of day. She pushed herself back up onto the saddle, and pressing her heels into Roach's side, she urged her onwards.

* * *

By the time they had reached the town gates, the sun had long dipped below the horizon, and the stars were beginning to smatter the sky. The streets were packed, bustling with the citizens, most of whom were drunk, swaying from side to side as they staggard in groups from one tavern to the next. She dismounted Roach as she passed through the gates, choosing to lead Roach through by the reigns in case some unfortunate soul stumbled into the road and was trampled under her hooves.

After a few minutes of wandering through the city, Yennefer came across a tavern that didn't seem to be too overcrowded with inebriated patrons. She tied Roach to a fence-post outside, patting her nose and promising that Yennefer wouldn't be too long and that she would be in a proper stable before long, and turning and entering the building. 

Inside, the tavern was dimly lit, with the only light sources being the large cast-iron candelabras hanging from the ceiling as well as the smaller tea candles which littered each table. There was none of the ruckus which permeated the streets outside, no drunken shouting nor any drunken singing. Instead, there was only the low murmur of the patrons, which was barely louder than the dull roar of the fire at the one end of the room. Next to the fire sat a young woman, plucking serenely at a large wooden harp. As she entered, a few of those sat at tables nearest the door broke their conversations, turning to look her up and down with narrowed eyes, before sniffing and returning their focus to their companions. 

Yennefer shook off their stares and weaved her way to the bar. The barkeep stood with his back to her, fiddling with something beneath the counter, but whirled around when she coughed. He was dressed in a black tunic and trousers, looking much more formal than many of the tavern owners that Yennefer had seen before. In his hands he clutched a bag of coin, half of it emptied onto the counter behind him, he was still holding a single gold coin between his thumb and forefinger of his other hand. He levelled her with an exasperated look,

"You just made me lose count." he raised his eyebrows, "What do you want?"

Yennefer looked between the barkeep and the pile of money behind him, suppressing a sigh, "I would like a room. Is there one available here?" 

The barkeep pushed the coin back into the purse, setting it down to the side of him, and turned to her. He looked down his nose, first at her face and then at her dress, and smirked,

"We do," he said, "but we are in high demand. Summer in Dorian is always a popular time." The barkeep leant over the counter, lowering his breath conspiratorially, "I'm...unsure if this place is of a suitable nature for you."

Yennefer clenched her teeth, forcing herself to put on her sweetest smile. "I could kill you with a click of my fingers," she planted her hands on the counter as she did so, "Don't test me."

The barkeep just laughed, "Oh I'm sure you could," he said, in a way which told Yennefer that he didn't believe her, "but I'm going to need something a little more solid than that." he glanced down at her hands on the counter, "My, what a lovely ring."

Yennefer looked down at the red ruby ring she had bought for herself a few years ago when she was visiting a Belleteyn festival; she had been drawn to the way it had sparkled in the firelight, and it seemed the man in front of her was as well. Resignedly, she slid the ring off of her middle finger, offering out on an open palm to the barkeep. He smiled at her, 

"Yes, that will do just fine for payment for a room." He reached out to grab it, but Yennefer held it out of his grasp,

"It will pay for my horse to be stabled as well." she said, firmly, "She's outside."

The barkeep worried his lip between his teeth, before finally relenting and calling over one of the staff who was wandering the room,

"Go outside and take this lady's horse to be stabled," he told the boy, who nodded and darted off. The man turned back to Yennefer, "It's not typical of us to do that, you know?."

Yennefer rolled her eyes, "Thank you."

The man grinned, "What was your name, again?"

"I didn't give it to you."

"Well, can I have it?" he pulled out a book and quill, "For the logbook." he clarified.

"Lene," she said, and the man narrowed his eyes at her,

"Lene?"

"Yes," Yennefer turned her head away from the man, instead electing to stare at the fire, making it evident that it was all information the man was getting from her. He seemed to accept this, shrugging and reaching beneath the counter to pull out a small key, dangling it off his fingers. 

"Alright, Lene. If I could just..." he gestured at her hand, and Yennefer reluctantly dropped the ring into his palm, watching as he tucked it away in his pocket. The barkeep grinned at her, and held the key out to her, which Yennefer took swiftly from him, "Your room is the second floor, fifth on the right." In lieu of a response, Yennefer simply turned and began to make her way over to the staircase.

"Enjoy your stay." the man called after her, cheerily, as though he hadn't just extorted a customer. Yennefer bit her tongue against the reply which threatened to bubble out of her, instead focussing on pulling herself up the steps to her room, the exhaustion of the day now weighing heavily on her mind and limbs. 

By the time that Yennefer reached her room, it was all she could do place Jaskier's lute carefully in one of the corners of the room, before collapsing onto the bed and falling into a deep slumber.

* * *

Yennefer awoke to the soft light of day filtering in through the window, and an unfamiliar presence in her room. She shot upwards, incantations falling from her lips before she had even had the chance to open her eyes. 

The presence laughed, "That won't work against me, Yennefer. You should have learnt that by now."

Yennefer stopped, reaching up to rub the sleep out of her eyes, and the presence swam into view. A young blonde-haired woman, dressed in a navy blue cloak, watching her with knowing eyes,

"I heard you might be having some trouble, I can help." She reached forward and pressed a letter into Yennefer's palm, "Come and find me." she said, before opening a portal and stepping through, closing it behind her before Yennefer had time to react.

Yennefer looked down at the letter, and back up to where the woman had been sat, 

"What the fuck?"

**Author's Note:**

> Remember to drop a kudo and a comment if you enjoyed, it does brighten my day :)


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